


Magic in Madness

by AliBabaDeBooks



Category: Original Work, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure & Romance, Angst and Romance, Demons, Dragons, Drama & Romance, Elemental Magic, Eventual Romance, F/M, Game of Thrones-esque, Girl Power, Kings & Queens, Magic, Magic-Users, Magical Artifacts, Magical Tattoos, Platonic Romance, Romance, Royalty, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Swords, Swords & Sorcery, Teen Romance, Women In Power, Wraith, Wraith Feeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23083915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliBabaDeBooks/pseuds/AliBabaDeBooks
Summary: The cost for Solarinn's magic is her sanity.As a Sympathe, Solarinn can read people's emotions. When she fights one of the Touched--wraiths who devour souls--her magic awakens, giving her abilities she never knew existed. It's so powerful it drives her mad. Driven by a delusion that she will be Queen, Solarinn infiltrates a Hatching and Bonds with a dragon, sparking a chain of events that will change her life forever.Since her madness makes her a danger to herself and others, they give her one month to defeat the Touched and prove her mental stability to become a fully fledged Dragon Rider. The cost of failure is her life.Solarinn's search reveals a menacing plot decades in the making, starting with their ancient ancestors and a God of Destruction. To make matters worse, her bloodline may trace back to an ancient, noble lineage tied to prophecy. Now, if she doesn't find a way to stop the Touched, the family she never knew and the friends she's gained will be killed.[PLEASE NOTE: This story will undergo revisions once it's done.][DISCLAIMER: This is a copyrighted work. You do not have permission to copy, print, or distribute it on any forum or medium. Thank you for understanding.]
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_ Solarinn _

__

It took Solarinn eighteen years to realize her mind was the enemy.

Hunched over a claw footed tub, she scrubbed a particularly stubborn patch of mildew until her arm and back ached. She crouched in the privy of her parent's house, the floorboards and walls expensive wood exported from the jungles of Ash'Kana. While she worked, her mind told her things that could only exist in a different version of reality than the one in which she lived.

 _You will be grand,_ it said. _You will be a Rider. You will be Gra. You will be Queen!_ It never told her this through words. It told her this through conviction that felt like her own yet wasn't. In her mind, she genuinely believed these things to be true, yet a fragmented part of her—the sane part—realized it was not realistic.

Clenching her jaw, Solarinn worked even harder, auburn hair sliding out of its braid and sticking to her sweaty face, like she could scrub away her madness the same way she scrubbed mildew from the copper tub. Greslinn hated the Riders and forbade her to become one of them, but becoming Gra and Queen-Consort? Impossible. First and foremost, she had no desire to be Gra or Queen. She had no interest in taking on the kind of responsibility that meant her decisions would affect tens of thousands of lives; she had a hard enough time taking care of herself with her failing sanity.

Besides, Dragon King Fionn hadn't taken another bride since his Queen had disappeared nearly two decades ago. Rumors claimed the Bolstyans had kidnapped her, while others said she'd run off with a scandalous lover. With a sigh, Solarinn sat back and scrubbed a forearm across her forehead, eyes closed. She told herself she would never become a Rider, never become Gra, never become Queen. Yet her traitorous mind rebelled, convincing her otherwise. She struggled with herself, crouched there in the privy, a pale, unmoving statue. It was terrifying to know she couldn't trust her own mind.

"Solarinn."

Startled, Solarinn tried to jump to her feet only to stagger sideways and crash into the tub with a hiss of pain. Her knees had locked up from being crouched for so long, the muscles aching, and one of her feet had fallen asleep. Her _aankor,_ the white Terrier with floppy ears and a banner for a tail who'd been lying on the floor watching her, jumped to his feet and scurried away from the tub, tremors rippling through him.

"Sorry, Benny," said Solarinn. With a grimace, she shook out her foot until blood rushed back into it and little pins and needles pricked her skin.

"Solarinn," came the voice again, a shrill soprano, "if you don't hurry, you'll be late for Chromatic University classes. Have you finished in the bathroom?"

"Coming," shouted Solarinn. Hobbling on her tingling foot, she bent to scoop Benny into her arms. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," she cooed. "I didn't mean to frighten you." She stroked his coarse, slightly curly fur. He curled against her chest and burrowed his face in her shoulder, his wet snout tickling her neck. A sense of comfort washed over Solarinn the longer she held him, battling against the insanity clawing at the edges of her mind. Thus was the bond of an _aankor_. Sighing, she closed her eyes and hugged him tight, her own arms trembling.

"Solarinn!" This time, the shout was accompanied by the thud of approaching footsteps.

Planting a kiss on his little head, Solarinn set Benny on the ground and gathered her cleaning supplies into a bucket. With the bucket under one arm, she slowly unlaced her braid and strode from the bathroom.

Greslinn met her in the hallway, lips pursed in a stern line. She was a tall, barrel chested woman who looked nothing like her daughter. Or rather, Solarinn looked nothing like her mother. She supposed they had the same small nose, the same curve of the jawline, but that's where the similarities ended. Greslinn had mostly grey hair cut short in a bob with dark brown eyes and wrinkles lining her old face. In contrast, Solarinn had auburn hair so dark it was nearly brown and grey eyes like the rising dawn. Where Greslinn was thick boned and heavy, Solarinn was thin-boned and willowy.

The instant Greslinn appeared, her emotions buffeted Solarinn like a battering ram. Exhaustion. Irritation. Longing. They twined with her own, making it difficult for Solarinn to pull away. Stiffening, she envisioned a protective shell around herself the way she'd been taught. Within this shell, she was safe. The emotions of others would hit it and bounce away without touching her. She used it whenever she was in public, but she often forgot at home.

At her feet, Benny slunk closer and leaned against her leg in silent support. The sweet warmth of his unconditional love and calm, single-minded focus anchored her, a rock in the swirling current of emotions. She grabbed onto his little soul and held on tight.

"Did you finish the bathroom?" asked Greslinn, irritation pulsing around her in almost visible waves.

"Yes, mami," said Solarinn.

"Good." The irritation dimmed slightly, exhaustion taking its place. "What about the laundry?"

Solarinn grimaced. "I have more to fold. I'm sorry."

Irritation. "When will you have it done by?"

"After class."

Greslinn's eyes narrowed. "What time?"

Solarinn took a moment to consider, a headache starting at her temples with the force of Greslinn's powerful emotions. "Eleven past sunrise."

Greslinn watched her for another long moment before nodding. The irritation evaporated, making the longing and exhaustion even stronger. "Very well. I've set aside some leftover stew from last night. Take it for your lunch today."

"Yes, mami."

And Greslinn was gone, disappearing into her room to prepare for her day. She was a nursemaid at Golden House Delvan, and she seemed to spend all her patience rearing their brood with none left over for her own. For a moment, Solarinn watched her leave and wondered if all families were like this. Curt. Straight to the point. Almost transactional. It wasn't that she hated her mother, or her father. She'd just never felt overwhelming love for them. She tried not to dwell on what that said about her.

It only took a few minutes to wash and change into the ceremonial rainbow-hued robes all _sympathes_ wore for their training. Standing in front of a floor length mirror and staring at her reflection, Solarinn couldn't decide if she loved the robe or hated it for everything it represented. It made her special. It made her damaged. It made her the envy of other Salachese. It made her a target. With a shake of her head, she brushed out her long auburn hair, braided it back, grabbed a satchel of books, and left.

With Benny trotting along at her heels, his mouth open in a puppy grin, Solarinn left her house and locked the front door behind her. Their home abutted the Golden House Delvan estate, since Geslinn was beholden to them. All their staff was contained within the walls of the estate, from the maids to the chefs to the tutors, but their home was the only one built entirely of wood. It was a mark of austerity among the Salachese, and one Geslinn did little to hide.

When she stepped outside, a reddish haze descended over Solarinn. She tilted back her head and squinted at the ceiling of the cavern overhead, trying to gauge the time. The rays of the unrelenting twin suns, Las and Luc, were hot enough they scorched everything they touched, hence why the ancient Salachese had sought sanctuary in the underground caverns beneath the surface. Now, the effects of the suns rays turned the ground, and thus the ceiling above their heads, a molten orange. Given the intensity of the glow, it was close to eight past sunrise, which meant she was late.

If she was like every other _sympathe_ , Solarinn would be at the Hatching Caverns to prepare to Bond with a _drachon_ , the legendary Salachese dragons. It was a great honor only a _sympathe_ could attain, but she was not like every other _sympathe_. For reasons she didn't understand, Greslinn hated the Riders and forbade her daughter from having anything to do with them. Truthfully, Solarinn didn't mind either way, she simply didn't understand her mother's prejudice.

Thus, instead of going to the Hatching caverns, she went to the Multihued Hall to prepare to take the final exam to graduate. She would become a fully-fledged member of society, now that she'd turned eighteen a few weeks ago.

Hiking up her robes, Solarinn took off at a brisk run through the Delvan estate. Benny bounded along behind her, his floppy little paws flapping. They ran past a town in and of itself, with Lady Delvan's baker handing out buns for breakfast, and the Lady's seamstress returning clothes that had needed mending or darning. Each estate of the Golden Houses functioned almost entirely on their own, a separate entity from the country of Salachar.

A small smile lifted Solarinn's lips as she raced by. People hailed her by name, shouting questions about her studies.

" _Are you ready for the Trial of Tranquility, Solarinn?"_

_"I have your new dress ready when you get back!"_

_"My, Benny's getting bigger by the day."_

She answered as best she could, slowing her pace to a brisk jog. For his part, Benny shied away from the other people, nearly tripping Solarinn with how close he clung to her side. His tail was tucked between his legs, and his ears drooped. He was more skittish than a horse in a house fire, but it made Solarinn laugh.

A shriek split the air, causing Solarinn to jerk to a stop. All activity in the estate ceased, an echoing silence spreading through the crowd. The scream sounded again, and the people parted. Solarinn's head jerked towards the noise, and her feet carried her forward without her permission.

 _You will be grand,_ said her mind. _You will be the most powerful person Salachar has ever seen._ Her lips thinned. She would not be grand. She would not be the most powerful person Salachar had ever seen, even if a part of her believed it. She simply wanted to know the source of that awful, heart-wrenching noise.

A woman stood bent in the street, her body writhing in agony. Tendrils of darkness rose from her like ghostly fingers, reaching for anyone within reach, and her veins ran black as tar. Solarinn's throat closed. The woman was Nihilating, her soul being sucked from her very body by the Touch of Lasair, God of Destruction. The woman moaned and clutched her head in her hands, rocking back and forth with frantic energy.

Solarinn had less than a second to recognize the woman. She was Lady Delvan's herbalist, a kindly woman in her prime who had spent hours with Solarinn and countless other children while they toiled with fever.

While Solarinn watched, frozen in place, a tether of darkness reached out and touched an elderly man with grey hair whose back was turned. The man shuddered and crumpled to the ground, twitching as though overcome by a stroke. Foam oozed from his mouth, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Solarinn's eyes went wide with horror. She'd heard stories of the Touched and Nihilating, but it was entirely different to see it with her own eyes.

There was a beat of silence before chaos broke loose. People screamed and fled, slamming into one another in their haste to get out of the woman's way. The onslaught of people bumping into her from all sides snapped Solarinn out of her shock. Bending down, she snatched Benny from the ground where he'd crouched in a shivering mass of fur, and hugged her _aankor_ to her chest before he could be trampled. The crowd pushed against her, but she pushed back, planting her feet and standing her ground. Out of everyone there, she was the only one who had a chance against the Touched.

A heartbeat later, and the herbalist fell still, her body sprawled across the street. Then, a transparent phantom rose from the woman's corpse, taking the shape of a bald figure with arms that hung down to the ground. While the older man wheezed and struggled, the darkness swallowing him, too, the phantom turned its head. Solarinn followed its stare and sucked in a shallow breath. A little girl clutched a doll to her chest and wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks, forgotten by the mob.

Solarinn's eyes widened. She knew the girl. Of course, she did. In a small community like the staff of Golden House Delvan, it was impossible not to recognize every face. Her name was Arianna, and she was the House seamstress' daughter. Solarinn had often seen Arianna lingering on the edges of the groups of kids, wanting to participate yet not knowing how. Watching her had struck a chord within Solarinn, reminding her of how she'd never truly found a place she fit in, either, and she felt for the little girl.

The phantom lifted a ghastly arm and lurched towards Arianna.

"No!" Solarinn didn't have time to think. She reacted. Normally, it took at least ten _sympathes_ to subdue one of the Touched, and she was just one girl. But she had to do something. Still holding Benny to her chest, Solarinn ran forward. She battled her way through the crowd, throwing elbows and shoulders to knock people out of her way. But it wasn't enough. She moved through the frenzied mob slow as molasses, while the Touched ambled towards the girl, unhindered.

"Move!" she shouted, desperate to reach Arianna. She was too young, no more than six or seven. No one deserved the agony of Nihilating, but this girl least of all. "Move!" With one final shove, Solarinn broke through the crowd into a pocket of empty space around the dead woman, the seizing man, and the Touched.

Breathing hard, Solarinn set Benny on the ground. Despite the way he trembled, Benny growled at the Touched and tried to move between it and Solarinn, trying to protect his _aankor_.

The Touched loomed over the little girl, whose wails grew louder. Its searching arm lowered slowly to Arianna's head of brown braids.

"Stop!" With seconds to spare, Solarinn lunged for the Touched.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Solarinn_

The minute her hand made contact with the Touched, a single truth rang through Solarinn. The Touched weren’t human. They were the embodiment of vengeance, beings who lived solely for revenge. Revenge against what or whom, she didn’t know, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

Then, a flash of white light blinded her, and an echoing _boom_ like thunder stunned her.

Something slammed into her and knocked the breath from her lungs.

Shadow barked.

Solarinn’s ears rang.

Her right hand went numb, a sensation of cold oil sliding up her arm.

And the careful wall she’d erected between herself and the madness shattered. The delusion she’d been fighting stuck its claws into her and made a home for itself in her mind.

Euphoria overwhelmed her. She was a goddess incarnate. She would be the most powerful _sympathe_ Salachar—no, the world, had ever known. Curse what her mother wanted, she would become a Rider and the next Gra. As Gra, she would rule over the _sympathes_ , and as Queen, she would rule over all the rest. She deserved it all, because she was powerful, and beautiful, and intelligent, and everyone should bow before her.

When the light finally cleared, Solarinn was lying on her back in the paved street, the world swimming around her. Something small and warm rested atop her chest, trembling slightly. That touched grounded her, an anchor in the rushing stream of her madness and delusions. She looked down. Shadow stared at her with big, brown eyes, and panted with worry.

A trembling smile lifted her lips, but it froze as he came into full focus. Solarinn blinked. Something about Shadow had changed. There was a faint…aura of color around him. Pink and orange. Without trying to, she interpreted the meaning behind the colors. Pink. Unconditional love. Orange. Anxiety. She blinked again. Shadow loved her and was worried about her; he’d done everything he could to protect her from harm, but had it been enough? Surprise lit within her. She’d always been able to feel other people’s emotions, but never with such clarity.

“I’m alright, Shadow.” Groaning, she sat up, and her vision swam with the movement. She gave Shadow a kiss atop his head and ruffled his ears to comfort him. When she looked around, giddy excitement danced through her blood. It wasn’t just Shadow who had changed. The world looked different to her eyes, alive and vibrant with colors. They surrounded everyone; the child who she’d tried to save, the dying man, and the people who had been thrown to the ground by the blast.

One man was orange, blue, and black; he was confused by the blast, but grateful he hadn’t been Touched because he was terrified of dying. A woman was gray, black, and red; she’d known the herbalist and mourned her loss, and even though she herself was horrified by the Touched she was also furious it had claimed someone she knew.

It was less of a vague sensation and more like Solarinn opened their hearts and read from them like a book. A grin quirked her lips, and her chest swelled with pride. This only proved she was the grandest _sympathe_ the world had ever known.

Then, the implications of their emotions hit her. Her mouth went dry. The Touched. Solarinn’s head twisted this way and that, searching, but she found nothing. The Touched was gone. Whatever had happened—whatever she’d done—she’d managed to do what it normally took ten people to do. A wicked grin spread across her face.

She’d banished the Touched.

Before Solarinn could dwell on what that meant for her and the Touched, she searched for Arianna. The girl lay a few feet away on her side, one arm sprawled across her body and the other flung out on the street. Her head was turned away from Solarinn, but she wasn’t moving.

The pride she’d felt withered in Solarinn’s chest to a black, shriveled husk of disappointment. Her head drooped. If she’d failed to save one innocent life, then her newfound powers meant nothing, and she was no one. Bleakness swirled around her head, rain clouds threatening to pour depression atop her. The shift from high to low was so abrupt and so violent it rattled Solarinn, causing her entire body to tremble.

Rather than stand—she felt unsteady, her sense of balance tilting from side to side in an uneasy dance—Solarinn crawled across the paving stones to the girl’s body.

 _Please,_ she thought. _Please, let me not be too late._ Arianna seemed so small—too small, her bones tiny and frail as a bird’s. Solarinn could’ve wrapped her hand twice around the girl’s thin wrist. Her heart ached. The child deserved a long life filled with happiness and joy. She didn’t deserve to die in the streets like garbage, alone and terrified in her final moments. It shouldn’t—couldn’t end here, not for her. Tears stung Solarinn’s eyes. She reached for her neck and placed a shaking finger to Arianna’s throat.

There, she felt a faint flutter.

Solarinn blew out a breath and sagged over the child’s unconscious, but alive, body. She buried her face in her hands and tried not to cry, such was her relief and joy. She’d done it. She’d saved an innocent life. She was worthy of becoming Gra and Queen, of ruling over everyone and everything.

“Solarinn?”

Dropping her hands, Solarinn spun. Shadow pressed against her side with a low growl, his ears lowered. The people of Golden House Delvan had emerged from their hiding places and gathered around her. A few had cuts or forming bruises from the blast, but most looked unharmed, if wide-eyed and dazed.

The woman who’d spoken had tears in her glassy eyes, and she wrung her wrinkled hands at her waist. Solarinn recognized her as Elwin, the House midwife, and knew instantly what her colors meant. Pink, black, and blue. She loved her daughter and couldn’t bear to lose her. She was terrified of the thought she’d been killed, but she was bursting with gratitude for Solarinn, who’d tried to save her life.

Solarinn smiled. “She’s alive.”

Elwin clapped a hand over her mouth. With a muffled sob, she ran forward and knelt, gathering the girl into her arms. Her movement broke the spell over the rest of the crowd, and they surged forward. While a few went to carry the seizing man to a physician—he wasn’t likely to live through the night—the rest clustered around Solarinn.

Solarinn gathered Shadow in her arms and stood, beaming, while the staff of Golden House Delvan fawned over her. She had known these people all her life, yet they looked at her now like she was a stranger. She was someone they’d never seen before, someone better than the girl they’d known.

“ _That was incredible! I’ve never seen anything like that before in my entire life.”_

_“How did you do that? Did you learn that at [SCHOOL FOR SYMPATHES]?”_

_“You saved us, Solarinn. Thank you. Thank you so much.”_

People shook her hand with coral respect. People pulled her in for a laughing hug of purple joy. People clapped her on the back with sky blue gratitude. People simply wanted to touch her arm, or pinch the fabric of her robes, or tug on a strand of her auburn hair, all of them struck by silver awe.

Solarinn basked in their praise; a wide smile stuck on her face. The more she interacted with people, the more attuned her senses became to their colors and emotions. She began to detect subtle differences in the shades of colors, adding a deeper layer of complexity to their emotion.

“Aren’t you going to be late for the Hatching?”

Solarinn turned to the speaker with wide eyes. It was Elwin, her daughter held in her arms. Arianna had awoken—Thank Lusce—and clutched her mother in a tight grip, but her lids were lowered drowsily. Solarinn’s brow crinkled. The colors surrounding her ran together like drying paint; she was in shock.

“No, I’ll be alright,” she said, because in that moment, she’d decided she would attend. It was her destiny. “She’s in shock. You should wrap her in a warm blanket and give her some candy to help calm her down.”

Elwin’s eyes widened with peach colored surprise and sky-blue gratitude. “I will. Thank you, Solarinn.” She kissed the tips of her fingers and gestured to Solarinn, the ultimate sign of respect, before hurrying off with her daughter.

Solarinn watched them go with a smug grin. Now that she’d saved lives and proven herself as worthy, it was time to become a Rider.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_Solarinn_

Solarinn ran with Shadow through the winding streets of Neamh, capital of Salachar, with a bright smile on her face. Her heart soared through the air a million meters above them. Unlike the wooden houses on the estates of the Golden Houses, the _grounder_ houses in the capital were all crafted of gray stone mined in their underground country. Some were in worse repair than others, their roofs crumbling and doors askew, while others were small, unassuming, and well-kept.

After passing through the outer slums, she hit the Central District and slowed her pace. The Market dominated the Central District, a wide-open courtyard with businesses bracketed on all sides. Vendors set up carts and tents in the center, their white cloth painted orange by the molten light of the cavern overhead, and masses of people milled around them. The miasma of their colors overwhelmed Solarinn, the sensory overload making her head swim.

She passed a Clairvoyant and sniffed with disdain. Clairvoyants were _sympathes_ who had not Bonded with a _drachon_ or tested high enough in their exams to serve in the palace, and had taken up jobs peddling stories and magic to grounders; telling them if they were Coupled, or giving life and relationship advice. It was a fate she’d reconciled for herself, but now, she couldn’t fathom being a lowly Clairvoyant. She would never stoop to the level of a _grounder._ Since her mother served Lady Clarian of Golden House Delvan, Solarinn was technically an _ember_ until she took her placement exam, but even that wasn’t enough. After today, when she became a Rider, she would ascend to the highest rank of _ashe_ because that’s where she belonged.

The Clairvoyant lifted her head. When her eyes met Solarinn’s, they flared wide with shock and confusion; what had she done to offend Solarinn for her to regard the woman with such disdain? 

Solarinns’s eyes narrowed. She existed.

Shadow barked, lifting his rump into the air and lowering his front paws in play pose. It brought Solarinn out of her dark mood instantly. Chuckling, she stroked his coarse fur and took off at a jog.

If the Market was the center of Neamh, then the Golden Houses were the spokes, surrounding the city on all sides. The Hatching Caverns were beyond the city limits and behind Golden House Sansen, because Lord Demetrian Il’Sansen was the Dragon Master and oversaw all dealings with the _drachon_. Lord Il’Sansen had an impressive estate, a wrought iron gate surrounding it all, but she couldn’t see the building through the canopy of trees he’d imported from Ash’Kana.

Palace soldiers guarded the entrance to the cave. When she reached them, Solarinn shrugged down the collar of her robes to reveal the tattoo on her left shoulder blade. It was a _drachon_ imposed over a rainbow, the symbol of the _sympathe_. The guards waved her past and she entered a tunnel carved into one of the rock walls.

Darkness enveloped her, but sconces set into the walls lit her way. Orange flames flickered against the dark walls, making the cavern seem to shift and move with every step. She picked her way down the shallow stone steps with care, robes lifted, so she wouldn’t step on Shadow as he bounded down in front of her. The stairwell seemed to go on forever, and impatience slowly began dragging claws down Solarinn’s spine. There was no time to waste. She had to attend the Hatching and Bond with a _drachon_. If she didn’t, it would ruin her life. It would ruin everything.

Finally, _finally_ , the stairwell opened up into a smaller cavern. Stalactites and stalagmites hung from the ceiling and jutted from the floor, their brown surfaces shiny with moisture. Solarinn’s eyes went instantly to the river of silver snaking through the cavern, its surface luminous as the stars twinkling in the night sky. The magic in the Sea of Stars called to her blood, planting a hook in her bones and dragging her forward. It was a physical weight in the air, almost like a living being drawing in and releasing breath, a decided shift from aboveground. There were only a few people privileged enough to know where the Sea of Stars—the source of all magic in Salachar—was located, and _sympathes_ were among them.

Her sandals dragged across the stones, and as she rounded a boulder the rest of the _sympathes_ came into view. Lord Il’Sansen stood at the head of the group and spoke in a voice that carried, his hands folded behind his back.

“…very dangerous, so you must stay back and let the _drachon_ come to you…” He was an older man with gray hair and wrinkles lining his face, but Solarinn had met him and knew there was still fierce intelligence in those brown eyes.

Beside him stood his ward, Lord Kiernan. Lord Il’Sansen had adopted him, but rumor had it Lord Kiernan was the bastard son of Dragon King Fionn. He looked nothing like his adoptive father, aside from their straight backs and rigid postures. For one thing, he stood a few inches taller than Lord Il’Sansen. Otherwise, he had brown hair shaven close to his head with a thin, scraggly beard hugging his jawline. The natural glow from the Sea of Stars reflected off his hazel eyes, bringing out the flecks of green within them. Solarinn had often seen him from a distance during her training, but they’d never interacted before.

Lord Kiernan’s hazel eyes flicked to her and stayed there, recognition slowly dawning in his gaze. Colors burst to life around him. Rosy hued interest. Bright yellow curiosity. Solarinn cocked her head to the side. She didn’t think Lord Kiernan recognized her from any other girl in her class, but clearly, he’d paid more attention to her than she realized. She stared back, a warm sensation stirring in her chest. It wasn’t sexual attraction, but it was something. She didn’t have a name for it.

She smiled, her eyes crinkling, and Lord Kiernan gave her a close-lipped smile in response. His eyes twinkled like he knew something she didn’t. It made her want to know what he was thinking. They stayed that way for a moment longer until Lord Il’Sansen captured his ward’s attention.

The moment broken, Solarinn strode forward to join the rest of the _sympathes_. Their _aankors_ filled the space between them; cats curled around their master’s legs, hawks and other birds perched on shoulders. There was even a snake curled around a young woman like a necklace. Solarinn knew them all by name but didn’t offer any greetings. She was consumed by single-minded focus—the urge to Bond with a _drachon_ —and couldn’t be distracted by anything else. 

“…cut a slice in your palm and offer it to the _drachon_ ,” Lord Il’Sansen finished, repeating instructions they’d heard countless times at [PLACE WHERE THEY TRAIN].

He lifted a ceremonial sword, and awed murmurs rushed through the crowd like wind through the leaves. Even Solarinn’s lips parted in wonder. It was Kallandriel, the sword of Antonin Tellamonte, the first King of Salachar. Its hilt had been carved to resemble the red wings of a _drachon_ , the black blade made of impenetrable onyx. 

The Tellamonte bloodline had ruled for decades before dying out, leaving no known relatives behind. All that was left of the once mighty lineage was this sword. Myth and legend claimed that if a Tellamonte had managed to survive and held the blade, it would burst to life with the undying flame of Salachar, the first _drachon_ and Goddess of Wild Things.

“Now, come forward to cut your palm and prepare to receive the gift of Salachar, the first _drachon.”_

“Shadow, sit,” she said, and made a fist. The little terrier sat, his head cocked to the side and tail wagging. “Stay.” She held out a flat palm. Shadow whined but stayed while Solarinn joined the rest of the crowd in moving towards the Sea of Stars.

While she walked, she caught a glimpse of the mottled _drachon_ eggs waiting along the walls in clumps. There were three broods from separate mothers with twelve eggs in total. It was rare for a _drachon_ female to hatch more than three eggs at a time, which made the Bonding process was rare and valuable. Given the more than thirty _sympathes_ around Solarinn at varying ages, not everyone would leave the Hatching Cavern with a _drachon_.

But she would be one of them.

The _sympathes_ formed a line and approached Lord Il’Sansen one by one. The Dragon Master murmured a prayer from Lusce and cut a shallow gash into their palm, before sending them to stand in a lose semi-circle near the eggs.

When it came time for Solarinn, Lord Il’Sansen frowned.

“Solarinn. I thought your mother didn’t permit you to attend the Hatching.” He gestured to one of his aides and the Rider stepped forward, handing him a ledger. The man wore the customary garb of a rider; leather armor with straps along their forearms and a mask over the bottom half of their faces. Solarinn’s hands curled into fists. She longed to be one of them so bad it physically hurt.

Lord Il’Sansen’s eyes scanned the ledger. “I don’t have her signature here.”

“I’m emancipated,” said Solarinn, the lie rolling easily off her tongue.

Lord Il’Sansen’s frown deepened. There were splotches of orange confusion and dark gray disbelief in his aura. “I don’t have that paperwork, either.”

“It just happened today,” she said. “I’m sorry they didn’t have time to deliver it to you.”

He studied her for a long moment, and Solarinn was aware of Lord Kiernan watching her as well. She snuck a glance in his direction, but the handsome boy’s face was unreadable. His aura, however, told a different story. The rosy regard had heightened to a ruby colored interest; she’d impressed him with her bravado, and the lingering pale pink said he found her alluring. Solarinn preened beneath his regard. 

“What are the results of your assessment?” asked the Dragon Master.

“I haven’t taken it yet,” she said, completely unbothered by this admission. “But I know I’m good enough.”

Lord Il’Sansen’s face softened, his aura flaring a dark pink of affection, and he chuckled. “While I appreciate your confidence, Solarinn, we have these rules in place for a reason. I’m afraid I cannot permit you to attend the Hatching without your parent’s permission or your registered exam scores.” He turned his back on her, clearly expecting that to be the end of the conversation.

Solarinn stepped forward, her jaw clenched. “No.” She put all of her conviction into the word, and it carried from her lips like a battle cry.

A hush fell over the gathered _sympathes_ , some of whom had stopped to stare at her. Even Lord Kiernan’s eyes were wide.

Lord Il’Sansen turned back to her slowly, as if he thought he’d misheard her. “Excuse me?”

Solarinn drew herself up. “I said no. With all due respect, I _will_ attend this Hatching.”

“And I am telling you, you will not,” said the Dragon Master, putting all of his fifty years of authority into the hard words.

Solarinn lifted her chin. “I don’t care.”

Lord Il’Sansen’s brows lifted in genuine, honey yellow surprise. “What has gotten into you, Solarinn? You’re acting unusual.”

“You’re in the way of my destiny,” she said, brushing off his question. “I will become a Rider, and then I will become Gra, and one day, Queen.”

Bubbles of indigo blue concern floated off Lord Il’Sansen’s body in waves. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I know.” She patted her chest. “I know it here.”

Lord Il’Sansen exchanged a look with one of his Riders. A gesture had the man striding towards his side, and Lord Il’Sansen bent forward to whisper in his ear. Solarinn thought she heard the word _Barokken_ before the Dragon Master pulled back.

“Rider Dariann will escort you to the [PLACE WHERE THEY STUDY] to undergo a few tests,” said Lord Il’Sansen, his aura radiating gentle, soothing colors.

Solarinn’s teeth grated together. “I’m not Barokken. I’m fine—no, better than fine. I feel better than I have in my entire life.”

“I know, Solarinn,” said Lord Il’Sansen in the condescending voice of someone speaking to a child. No, she’d misunderstood. That wasn’t pale concern dancing in his aura. That was pity. Her nostrils flared indignantly. He _pitied_ her.

Anger flared, bright and hot, within her. “You don’t understand,” she said. “Lusce himself has Blessed me to be the next Gra. I’m going to end the war with Bolstya and bring peace to Salachar. I’m the most powerful _sympathe_ in existence!”

She had no idea where the words or thoughts came from, only that when she spoke them, they became real convictions in her heart. Yes, the revelation about her destiny had come from Lusce, God of Creation. Who else could fill her with such fervor? He’d Blessed her with these remarkable powers to bring about real change to Salachar. A new era of peace was coming, and Solarinn would be its herald.

She would change the world.

Rider Dariann took hold of her bicep in a firm grip. “If you’ll come with me—”

“Get your hands off me.” Solarinn twisted out of his grip and slapped his hand away, offended by his man handling her. Despite her command, Shadow leapt to his feet and ran towards them, barking the entire time.

Rider Dariann’s eyes narrowed. Stepping back to put space between them, Solarinn took him in for the first time. He had black, shaggy hair that fell across his forehead in waves, and piercing blue eyes that reminded her of the sapphires she’d seen on sale in the Market. There was something hard and cold in his features, reminding her of cut marble, but he was gorgeous, with high cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. There was something almost effeminate about his features that made him even more appealing.

Until he grabbed her arm again. “Listen, I’m going to—”

“I said, let go!” Solarinn struggled, but this time, he did not release her. She shrieked as he wrapped his other arm around her waist and hugged her to his chest, bodily lifting her off the ground. Kicking out with her leg, she caught him in the knee. Rider Dariann grunted and toppled to the side, taking her with him.

They hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from Solarinn’s lungs. She gasped for air, Rider Dariann’s heavy weight pinning her to the ground. Shadow’s barks became frantic, cowering from anyone who came near him but trying to inch closer to Solarinn. Squirming beneath him, she threw a punch. He easily blocked with his forearm, a scowl on his face.

“Stop struggling,” he said.

“I will if you let me go,” she shot back.

“I’m trying to help you.”

Solarinn sneered. “You can help me by leaving me alone.”

She expected anger, but pale lavender bubbles of amusement swirled around him. A twisted grin flashed across his face, there and gone again in an instant. She blinked, startled to find the same pink regard from him she’d seen in Lord Kiernan.

Lord Il’Sansen broke their eye contact with his brusque command. “Get a sedative.”

Solarinn’s eyes widened in alarm. “No!” She kicked and threw out her elbows, hoping to strike flesh, but Rider Dariann kept her trapped beneath his sizable, muscular body. “No, I don’t need a sedative. I’m fine. I’m fine!” she shrieked.

Heedless of her cries, one of the Riders by Lord Il’Sansen took off to the cave mouth at a run. After he disappeared, a loud _crack_ split the air and rendered the entire cavern mute. Solarinn wiggled out from beneath Rider Dariann and glanced past Lord Il’Sansen and the other _sympathes_ who had gathered to watch the spectacle. A great, hairline fracture had split across one of the eggs, the shell trembling with the movements of its inhabitants.

The Hatching had begun.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Solarinn_

A maniacal laugh escaped Solarinn, wild and untamed. They wouldn’t be able to keep her from the Hatching after all. It was happening. Now.

Lord Il’Sansen stepped forward and cut off her line of sight to the eggs. She tried to lean around him, but he grabbed one of her arms and yanked her to her feet. Solarinn staggered and nearly fell, the only thing holding her up his grip on her bicep. Rider Dariann rose to his feet with surprising grace, not bothering to wipe the dust from his uniform before he grabbed Solarinn’s other arm.

“You are not well, Solarinn,” Lord Il’Sansen hissed in her ear. “Please, let us help you. Do not make this anymore difficult than it already is.”

“I’m not—”

A collective gasp rose from the crowd, and Lord Il’Sansen’s head jerked to the side. Solarinn followed his gaze towards the source of the commotion, and her heart leapt with wild excitement and hunger. The first egg had hatched, and the newborn _drachon_ crawled towards the Sea of Stars with moans of pain. Even from this distance, Solarinn felt its hunger like it was her own. She bit down on her bottom lip. The thing was starving. It had taken all its strength to break free of its shell, and it had nothing left to give.

Solarinn wanted to help it, but Lord Il’Sansen and Rider Dariann held her back. She could only watch, her heart in her throat, as the _drachon_ dragged its malnourished body towards the glistening, silver waters. Three meters left. Two. One. Solarinn loosed a relieved breath as the _drachon_ threw itself into the Sea of Stars and disappeared beneath the starlit surface with a splash.

The most mystical sight Solarinn had ever seen rose from the Sea of Stars. It was a mythical golden _drachon_. The creature emerged from the water, born anew, its body filled out and content, its hunger satisfied. The regal _drachon_ slithered from the Sea of Stars onto the bank and began preening its wings, trying to dry them enough to fly. A hushed awe fell over the cavern. A golden _drachon_ only hatched once every hundred years. It was a good omen for one to be born in their generation. A slow smile spread across Solarinn’s face.

And she would be its Rider.

She tried to surge forward, but Lord Il’Sansen and Rider Dariann yanked her back. “Let me go to her!” she cried out.

Ignoring her, Lord Il’Sansen pinned Rider Dariann with a hard look. “Do not let her get anywhere near the _drachons_.”

“Yes, sir.”

She continued to struggle, the skirts of her robe twisting and tangling around her legs, while the golden _drachon_ shook itself off and lifted its head. Its glorious golden hide was gleaming and wet, and it tried to flap its wings but they were too damp to lift. With a pitiful squawk, the golden _drachon_ stumbled towards the waiting _sympathes_. Some hadn’t had a chance to slice open their palms on Kallandriel, thanks to Solarinn’s interruption, and they shifted impatiently with worried murmurs. Those who had held their hands out towards the rare, golden _drachon_.

The _drachon_ cocked its head to the side and regarded them. After a moment of hesitation, it waddled forward, certain of its path.

And headed straight towards Solarinn.

Solarinn beamed, but Lord Il’Sansen began pulling her backwards and away from the Sea of Stars and the _drachon._

“No!” She dug her heels into the ground, but her sandals slipped on the stone. “She’s chosen—”

“Where is that blasted sedative?” roared Lord Il’Sansen. On cue, the Rider burst from the stairwell and sprinted towards them, a vial of liquid and cloth clutched in both hands.

Solarinn’s eyes flew wide with terror. “No.” She jerked her arm, but Rider Dariann’s fingers only dug harder into her skin. “No! She chose me. She chose—” The words died on her tongue. A few paces behind Lord Il’Sansen, the golden _drachon_ had stopped before a girl Solarinn recognized. Solarinn’s throat closed. While she watched in stunned disbelief, the _drachon_ bent its head and drank the girl’s blood, cementing their Bond.

Solarinn watched the Bond spring to life between them, a golden chain not unlike the one that connected human Mates. The girl’s eyes went unfocused like she was listening inward, and when she blinked to clear her vision, a triumphant smirk spread across her face.

“Her name is Kalynn,” she announced in a ringing voice. Scattered applause followed the statement while other eggs rattled and cracked behind the newly Bonded pair.

Solarinn’s eyes narrowed. She knew the brand-new Rider from her classes. Morrigan, daughter of the [GENERAL NAME] of the Golden Odyssey and heir to Golden House Paolin. The girl was insufferable, taking every opportunity to point out Solarinn’s mistakes and critique her flaws. If Solarinn did something well, Morrigan had to do it better.

Apparently, that had extended to the Hatching, too.

As though the golden _drachon_ had been the catalyst, the other eggs began to hatch more quickly. Newly hatched _drachon_ struggled to reach the Sea of Stars and life, their claws scraping against the stone.

Rider Dariann clamped a cloth over her nose and mouth. Shocked by the sudden movement, Solarinn inhaled a deep lungful of toxins, the strength of it burning her nostrils. Her eyes watered and she blinked away the tears, realizing her mistake too late. The sedative. They’d drugged her. She thrashed, but the sedative had already started to take effect. Her vision went blurry, turning Lord Il’Sansen and Rider Dariann into indistinct blobs, and the loud pounding of her heart drowned out all other noises within the cavern.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. She was meant to Bond with a _drachon_ —the legendary golden _drachon_ —and become Gra. Lusce himself had decided it.

Darkness crowded at the edges of her vision. When her limbs starting to go numb, she sagged against Rider Dariann. He encircled her with his arms, holding her before she could hit the ground. Her lashes fluttered. She couldn’t fight the sedative any longer. It was dragging her under, and she was caught in the undertow, unable to pull herself free.

The last thing she saw before she fainted was a brown, black, and white blob rushing towards her.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Kiernan_

Kiernan had heard about Solarinn from a few of the other Riders, but their praise hadn’t done her beauty justice. She was even more than he’d expected, with a round face, full lips, auburn hair falling past her shoulders in waves, and gray eyes reminiscent of the sky at dawn. Her eyes were the first thing he’d noticed. They were Allentian eyes, named for the first Queen of Salachar, Lilianya Allentian, who’d also been known as the Warrior Queen. After her husband died, Warrior Queen Allentian had single-handedly fought off an invasion from the Mainland and ruled as Queen-Regent for most of her long life until her son ascended to the throne.

Allentian eyes were exceedingly rare, and thus treasured. Yet there was something else about Solarinn that piqued his interest. It was more than just her striking beauty. It might be the confident way she carried herself, or the world of complexity lurking behind her Allentian eyes. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was hopelessly drawn to her.

Which was why he’d been so shaken when she started raving like a lunatic and fighting his adoptive father. Even now, while he trailed Demetrian through the royal palace of Neamh to a council chamber, he couldn’t get her words, or the image of her struggling against his father like a wild beast, out of his mind. His polished brown boots clicked against the floor, the white tile polished to a shine, and the stale air made it difficult to breathe. Or perhaps that was just his nerves.

His _aankor_ Fynn, a black terrier with floppy ears, a cropped tail, and furry moustache, trotted along at his side. Fynn didn’t do well with strangers—he was overprotective and grumpy—so Kiernan had left him behind on the Sansen estate, but he’d felt his absence immensely. It had been a relief to be reunited and to hold his _aankor_ in his arms once more.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that Solarinn had a terrier _aankor_ , too.

The palace had once been grand, but after Queen Catienne’s disappearance, it had fallen into ruin, while the king had fallen into his cups. There was dust on the side tables and priceless artifacts along the walls. The wall hangings needed a good beating, their colors faded. The paintings had smudges on them, and even the tile had been cracked in places.

Kiernan’s fingers twitched at his sides. The disorder was enough to drag his thoughts away from Solarinn and the disturbing event he’d witnessed in the Hatching Cavern. The urge to clean the hallway grabbed him in a fist and squeezed, making his chest tight. It was dirty. He had to clean it. He couldn’t stand the filth. It was everywhere. If he touched one of the walls with his bare hands, he was sure to contract an illness. Or worse, a disease that would slowly eat away at his brain and body until he was nothing but an invalid, drooling, comatose, and unable to care for himself.

The thought caused sweat to bead on his brow, and his throat bobbed in a swallow. The anxiety became a living thing, coiling through his body until his skin ached as though it might split apart from the force of the feeling. Rather than submit to the compulsion, Kiernan reached up and ran a hand through his beard, the ritual soothing. Beside him, Fynn perked his ears and cocked his head up to Kiernan, gazing up at him with soulful brown eyes. The only emotion Kiernan sensed from his _aankor_ was undying love. With that look, Fynn seemed to say, _I know what you are going through, and I am here._

His _aankor_ ’s steady emotions grounded Kiernan and threw a blanket over his raging anxiety to smother it. His tense shoulders relaxed. There was another mental nudge in his mind, accompanied by an image of him soaring through the sky on the back of a drachon. Kiernan grinned. It was from Brennyn, his two-year-old adult _drachon_ and Soul-Bond. It was obvious his _drachon_ didn’t know why he was so upset, but he was willing to carry him far away from whatever bothered him.

A sense of calm spread through Kiernan, even though the compulsion to clean, the germaphobia, lingered just beneath the surface. A helpless feeling of fatigue and grudging acceptance followed the surge of intense emotion. The power of a _sympathe_ came with a cost, and that cost was mental and emotional instability. In Kiernan, it presented itself as compulsions, obsessions, and anxiety, which he managed through deep breathing, exercising, and weekly therapy. It was bad, but never worse than he could manage.

But the stronger the _sympathe_ the worse the madness, which meant in Solarinn’s case, she might be one of the strongest _sympathes_ they’d seen in decades. A worried frown knit his brow together. No one had become Barokken since Gra Veria in 242 A.D., and that was over fifty decades ago. 

If she was Barokken at all. If she was past the point of being saved. His heart wrenched at the thought, and his fingers flexed through his beard hard enough to hurt. In his gut, he knew she was likely beyond his reach, but in his heart, he wanted to believe otherwise.

Demetrian and Kiernan entered the council chambers and found one other person already waiting for them. Since the Gra who typically oversaw the _sympathes_ had vanished, it fell to the Council of Five, made up of the five heads of the Golden Houses, to manage them.

Lady Clarian Il’Delvan of Golden House Delvan sat in a high-backed chair on the far side of the room, her back straight and lips pursed. She had ashen gray hair tied back in a neat bun, her face wrinkled and her cheeks and the corners of her eyes sagging with age, but there was a spark of youth and intelligence in her cloudy, grayish-blue eyes.

Fynn stopped and released a series of warning barks, his ears laid flat on his head.

“Fynn.” Kiernan nudged his _aankor_ with a boot, his pulse jumping and an embarrassed flush creeping across his cheeks. “Stop.” But the terrier would not be silenced. He continued to bark at Lady Il’Delvan until Demetrian shot him a stern look. Ducking his head, Kiernan picked up Fynn, who struggled in his arms, and grabbed his muzzle to quiet him. It only managed to produce muffled grunts, snuffles, and growls.

“I apologize,” said Kiernan quickly, addressing Lady Il’Delvan. “He’s still a puppy, not yet one year old.”

Lady Il’Delvan gave him a flat look. “I’ve seen you with your _aankor_ , young lord Sansen. It has nothing to do with his age. You are too easy on him. He is a strong-willed, stubborn canine. If you want him to obey you, you must take control.”

Kiernan’s stomach roiled. He ducked his head. “Yes, Lady Il’Delvan.” The truth was he couldn’t imagine disciplining Fynn, even if he stole food straight off the table. He was a precious gift, one Kiernan wasn’t sure he deserved, and he only wanted the canine to be happy.

“Lady Il’Delvan,” said Demetrian over the terrier’s noises. He took a seat to her right and Kiernan took up a stance behind him with Fynn held in his arms, fixing his gaze straight ahead. While Demetrian settled himself, a deceptive mask of calm settled over his wrinkled, age-spotted face. Kiernan discreetly studied his profile. He wasn’t sure how it worked for other _sympathes_ —every experience was unique—but the closer he was with someone, the better he was able to discern their emotions.

For example, he knew Demetrian’s emotions weren’t as simple as anger. Demetrian was frustrated with himself for not catching signs of madness within Solarinn, one of his pupils, sooner. He was angry it had come to such violence in the Hatching Cavern so close to the precious _drachon_ eggs on a sacred day like the Hatching. And beneath it all, an overwhelming sadness a t the loss of such a talented girl.

The final emotion ratcheted up Kiernan’s anxiety and made his blood race. Solarinn couldn’t be beyond saving. There had to be hope for her. He had the strangest certainty that he needed to know her, that she would be an important part of his life. It was foolish to believe that after a single look, but it was also foolish to believe certain people in society had the magic to detect, and sometimes manipulate, other people’s emotions, yet the _sympathes_ existed.

“You said the girl belonged to my household,” said Lady Il’Delvan, cutting into Kiernan’s thoughts. “What is her name?”

“Solarinn.”

Kiernan’s eyes flickered to the Lady of Golden House Delvan. If she recognized Solarinn, she didn’t let on. Her expression remained unmoving, but he noticed the edges of her eyes and lips pinch ever so slightly. It didn’t occur to him until a few seconds later that he hadn’t felt a whiff of surprise off her, like she’d been expecting this news.

“Do you have any other information on her?” asked Lady Il’Delvan.

“Daughter of Greslinn, a nursemaid in your household, and Jonn, a Weaponsmith for House Sansen. She turned eighteen a few weeks ago, at the beginning of spring.” 

There. Recognition flickered in Lady Il’Delvan’s grayish-blue eyes at the mention of Greslinn, Solarinn’s mother. The tiniest scent of moldy fear pulsed from her, but it vanished so quickly Kiernan wondered if he’d imagined it.

Lady Il’Delvan arched her brows. “It would seem you have as much invested in this meeting as I do.”

Demetrian grimaced. “I appreciate the work her father has done for my House, but that doesn’t change the facts of the matter.”

“And what are the facts?” asked Lady Il’Delvan.

“She’s Barokken, Clarian,” said Demetrian, dropping formality and addressing the Lady by her first name. “We have to decide what to do with her.”

The blood drained from Kiernan’s face. When it came to Barokken, there were only two options decreed by law. First, if the Barokken was not a danger to themselves or others, they were detained by the crown for the rest of their lives, kept hidden away from society and heavily medicated. Secondly, if the Barokken posed a threat to anyone, they were put to death by the crown.

It was brutal, and inhumane, and the Golden Houses had been arguing amongst themselves for decades on whether or not to outlaw the barbaric tradition. Personally, Kiernan would’ve outlawed it the moment he could, but until he became the head of one of the Golden Houses he was powerless to affect change. Determination seared him to his bones. One day, he would become a head of one of the Golden Houses. Perhaps he would be the next Dragon King. Either way, he would make a difference. It was a role Demetrian had trained him for all his life.

“I believe that assessment should be left to the medical professionals whose sole job is to treat _sympathes_ ,” said Lady Il’Delvan with an air of calm authority.

A muscle ticked in Demetrian’s jaw. He smelled of mint, chagrined that she would require another opinion rather than accept his as truth. “I have already summoned one to examine Solarinn, and I’ve sent word to Greslinn and Jonn of her condition.”

In his arms, Fynn finally stopped squirming and growling. He pawed at the hand Kiernan held around his muzzle, his head shaking from side to side. Slowly, hesitantly, Kiernan removed his hand. When Fynn didn’t bark, he set him on the ground. The terrier trotted right up to Lady Il’Delvan and reared up on his hind legs, pawing at her gown like he hadn’t just been snarling at her a few minutes ago.

Lady Il’Delvan glanced down at Fynn. “Are you going to behave yourself, young man?” she asked briskly. Fynn wagged his tail but released a deep growl, like he had to remind Lady Il’Delvan he was in charge even though he desperately wanted her attention. Kiernan went rigid, sweat trickling down his spine. He prepared himself for another lecture from the Lady.

Instead, Lady Il’Delvan chuckled and obliged Fynn by rubbing his ears, obvious affection in her face. Despite her tough exterior, Kiernan knew she had a fondness for animals, even though she had no _aankor_ of her own.

It was common knowledge that Lady Il’Delvan was the only head of a House to not be a _sympathe_ or Rider. She came from humble origins, having been born a _grounder_ to a farmer father, yet she’d managed to capture the heart of Lord Conniern Il’Delvan, the heir to House Delvan. She’d returned his love, and he made her his Lady, elevating her from _grounder_ , the lowest caste in their society, straight to _ashen_ , the highest caste reserved for Riders and nobility. They’d had two children together, one who inherited her father’s magic, and the other who bore her mother’s normal blood.

After Lord Conniern’s death a few years ago, he’d left everything—the estate and the House’s sizable coffers—to Lady Clarian, who had seen the Golden House prosper ever since.

While Lady Il’Delvan entertained Fynn, the door opened, and more figures strode in. Lord Johann and Lady Pylina of House Paolin. Lord Emiann and Lady Solarinnn of House Bellen. The only House missing was Levin since Dragon King Fionn Il’Levin was probably inebriated somewhere and drinking his sorrows away.

On cue, Fynn dashed back to Kiernan’s side and began barking madly. Heads turned in his direction, four sets of disapproving eyes pinning him to the spot. Flushing, Kiernan scooped Fynn up once more and tried to silence him, both by grabbing his muzzle and by whispering to him. It did little save mute the barking and growling, the terrier wiggling in his arms.

Of the six House heads in the room, only three were _sympathes_ ; Demetrian, Lord Johann Il’Paolin, and Lady Solarinnn Il’Bellen. Despite that, Kiernan was the only one with his _aankor_ in the room. Younger _sympathes_ tended to be more volatile and required the emotional support of their _aankors_ more often than not, while older _sympathes_ —if they made it into old age—had better control over their magic.

The House heads took their seats, and the meeting to decide Solarinn’s fate began.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_Kiernan_

In the silence that followed, Fynn continued to release his muted, gurgling barks.

Demetrian stood. “Before we begin, I would like to congratulation Lord and Lady Il’Paolin on their daughter. It is very auspicious to have a golden _drachon_ Rider in the family.” The other heads applauded at the words, including Demetrian.

Lady Il’Paolin beamed. “Thank you, Lord Il’Sansen,” she said, while Lord Il’Paolin nodded. “We couldn’t be prouder of our daughter.”

Kiernan watched their interactions curiously. The Lord and Lady of House Paolin were opposites to him; the Lady hot and the Lord cold. He felt Lady Il’Paolin’s genuine pride for her daughter, but nothing from Lord Il’Paolin. They even looked as different as two people could. While Lady Il’Paolin was small and delicate, with thin, white-blonde hair and blue eyes, Lord Il’Paolin was the largest man in the room, with broad shoulders, a muscular torso, and legs the size of Kiernan’s chest. Kiernan supposed it made sense, since Johann was [NAME FOR GENERAL]. He had dark brown hair cropped short, and hazel eyes framed by thick lashes. Lady Il’Paolin had smooth features, whereas Lord Il’Paolin was all hard lines and crude edges.

Kiernan had never felt a bond of mutual love between them. He sensed respect, yet, perhaps even fondness, but never love. If anything, it seemed to be a friendship built on a mutual sense of duty and honor. It was obvious the marriage had been one of political convenience, and they stayed together for the sake of their House name and Morrigan, their only child. 

Lord Il’Paolin’s cutting gaze landed on him and Kiernan drew himself up straighter, determined not to wilt beneath his intimidating stare. “Are we proceeding with him here?” the Lord asked in a deep rumble, jabbing at Kiernan with his thumb.

Kiernan stiffened. His presence in royal meetings had never been questioned before.

“Yes,” said Demetrian, “Since he is my apprentice and will be the next Dragon Master and Lord of House Sansen, he must understand council politics.”

“My daughter isn’t standing behind me,” said Lord Il’Paolin in the same low growl.

Lady Il’Paolin frowned, coming to the support of her husband. “True, and he’s not even of the Sansen bloodline.” Kiernan was used to the slurs and speculation over his bloodline, and he let the veiled insult slide off him. But the reactions of the House heads crashed over him at the Lady’s words. It was hard for him to place the emotion to each person in the deluge. Someone was suspicious. Someone else was irritated. Still another person was amused. Kiernan pressed Fynn tight to his chest to center himself, focusing on the terrier’s steady heartbeat and his own deep breathing. It kept him from being flooded by the sensations and washed away.

Fynn quieted and stared up at him, ears perked. Somehow, he always knew when Kiernan needed him.

“It is not up for debate,” said Demetrian.

Lord Il’Paolin sat back, his chair creaking beneath his wait. “With all due respect—”

“Can we get back to business?” came Lady Il’Bellen’s nasally voice. “I’m dreadfully hungry.” While she spoke, she massaged a hand over her swollen, pregnant belly beneath the table. Lord and Lady Il’Bellen were the youngest couple on the Council and were expecting their first child in the winter.

Demetrian settled himself back in his seat. “Of course, my Lady. Let us know if you need anything.”

Lady Il’Bellen smiled, but it was all teeth. “Thank you. You may proceed.” Beside her, Lord Il’Bellen leaned sideways to murmur in her ear and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. In spite of their show of affection, Demetrian felt no warmth from them. Instead, he felt cold calculation. It sent a shiver down his spine and spread goosebumps along his arms. He would have to tell Demetrian about it later.

“Today, one of the _sympathes_ at [PLACE WHERE THEY TRAIN] attempted to infiltrate a Hatching without permission. She was intercepted by myself and one of my Riders and sedated before being brought to the palace for treatment.”

Kiernan’s jaw clenched. Infiltrate was a strong word to use. It wasn’t as though Solarinn had charged into the Hatching Cavern with sword drawn and bloodlust in her eyes. She’d simply walked up and told Demetrian she would attend. 

Lady Il’Bellen rolled her eyes skyward and placed a dramatic hand to her forehead. “Did you summon us here to tell us about one of your errant charges, Demetrian?” she asked. Her irreverence grated on Kiernan’s nerves, and he fought to keep a scowl from his face. It was one thing to berate himself, but to belittle Demetrian was another matter. Demetrian was Kiernan’s adoptive father and mentor, and Kiernan would protect his honor at all costs.

Before he could speak, Demetrian said, “No, I summoned you here because I think the girl, Solarinn, is Barokken.”

Silence fell over the table. It lasted for one heartbeat. Two. Three.

Then, “Are you certain?” The whispered question came from Lady Il’Paolin, her pretty face pale. “Was Morrigan—”

“No one was harmed at the Hatching,” said Demetrian. “We handled the situation quickly. Now, we must decide what to do with her.”

“What are her symptoms?” asked Lady Il’Paolin with a crease in her brow. “Can she be managed?”

Kiernan went rigid. His blood roared in his ears. He hated that word. Managed. Like she was a cow who had broken through the fence of his enclosure and needed to be reigned in. Solarinn wasn’t some stock animal; she was a person with thoughts and feelings. He opened his mouth to remind them of that fact, but Demetrian shot him a narrow-eyed look. Faltering, Kiernan closed his mouth with a click of his teeth. How had his mentor even known he was about to speak?

“She claimed she was the strongest sympathe in the entire world and believed Lusce had Blessed her, and that it was her destiny to Bond with a _drachon_. Now, the law offers two resolutions,” said Demeterian before anyone else could speak. “Either we confine her to the palace, or we sentence her to death.”

“Is she a danger to herself and others?” asked Lady Il’Delvan. She leaned back in her chair with a weary sigh, her expression slack with exhaustion. She saw this as a waste of her energy and time.

“We don’t know,” said Demetrian. “We must observe her to be certain.”

Lady Il’Paolin shook her head, her eyes downcast and heavy with sadness. “If she’s delusional, she’s beyond our help,” the Lady whispered. “We must sentence her to death.”

Those words sucked the air from Kiernan’s lungs. It wasn’t even about Solarinn anymore. It was about principle. They had no right to decide whether or not a person was beyond saving. At the very least, they owed it to Solarinn to try to help her. In his arms, Fynn reached up and snuffled his neck before licking it. Kiernan stroked his coarse head, his hand shaking with anger.

Lady Il’Paolin glanced around the table for support. Her husband, the General, remained unmoved. He’d crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, still seething over Kiernan’s presence in the room.

After a moment of consideration, Lady Il’Bellen nodded. “I agree,” she said. “It’s better to kill her now rather than find out later she’s a danger to herself and others. By then, it will be too late to avoid a catastrophe.” 

Kiernan’s eyes narrowed. He’d had no issue with her before, but he was quickly starting to dislike the Lady of House Bellen.

At her side, her husband nodded. “Agreed.”

Kiernan’s eyebrows arched. They couldn’t be serious. They would condemn an innocent girl to death for a crime she hadn’t even committed yet? There was no way they were that heartless.

Lady Il’Paolin placed a small, fine-boned hand on her husband’s shoulder and he stirred. “Agreed,” he said, though it was obvious he hadn’t been listening to a word they’d said. Panic set Kiernan’s heart to racing. No. No, he couldn’t allow this to happen. He had to say something. He had to stop them.

Lady Il’Paolin smiled with relief. “Then, we have a majority vote—”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple,” said Demetrian.

Kiernan sagged with relief, and Fynn rustled in his arms.

“Normally,” Demetrian continued, “I would agree, but there are certain factors that…complicate the situation.” The Dragon Master chose his words with obvious care, his brow furrowed.

“Enough with the theatrics, Demetrian,” drawled Lady Il’Bellen. “Tell us the problem.”

Demetrian blew out a breath. “Solarinn Bonded with a _drachon_.”

“What?” Lady Il’Bellen slammed her palms on the table hard enough it rattled. “How could you let this happen?”

Demetrian’s jaw clenched, and Kiernan didn’t fault him. He would be agitated, too, if Lady Il’Bellen spoke to him with such accusation, the sharp words meant to cut. Honestly, he was impressed his mentor managed to keep such a cool, neutral expression in the face of her aggression.

Meanwhile, Kiernan had Fynn in a stranglehold, his fingers curled inwards like claws. He fought to retain stability, even as his emotions careened back and forth between understanding—she was pregnant, hormonal, and probably scared—and anger—she had no right to speak to the Dragon Master like that.

“I thought you said you handled the matter,” said Lady Il’Paolin in a soft murmur.

“We did,” said Demetrian. “It happened just before the sedative took effect.”

“What is her _drachons_ name?” asked Lady Il’Delvan. The old woman had sat up in her chair, taking true interest in the conversation for the first time. Kiernan frowned. He didn’t understand what about the announcement had caught her attention, but he wanted to know.

“We don’t know,” said Demetrian. “She fainted shortly after the Bond formed.”

“So,” said Lord Il’Paolin and leaned forward, pressing his thick, meaty fingers against the wooden table. “We have a Rider who might be Barokken on our hands. But if we kill her, we kill the _drachon.”_

Demetrian nodded. “Yes. So, you see the dilemma.”

Silence answered his statement. In the seconds that followed, Kiernan listened to each of his pounding heartbeats, the only thing to fill the silence, and tried not to fidget. He hated having to sit back and watch them decide Solarinn’s fate without being able to intervene. But he respected Demetrian enough to follow his orders, and they had been very direct: remain as unobtrusive as possible during the meeting and do not say a word.

“Since we do not know if she is a danger to herself or others,” began Lady Il’Delvan, breaking the silence with her gravelly voice. “We should allow her to continue training to become a full Rider and monitor her closely. Perhaps we could assign someone to be her personal guard for the foreseeable future.”

Lady Il’Bellen scoffed. “All future Riders need to have the patronage of one of the Golden Houses. No one would take her in.”

Lady Il’Delvan arched a graying brow at the younger woman. “I would.” At the lady’s look of disbelief, she said, “Her mother, Greslinn, has served my household faithfully for over four decades. It’s the least I could do.”

“Since her father, Jonn, serves my household, I volunteer my son, Kiernan, to be her guard,” said Demetrian.

Kiernan blinked at that. He wanted to spend more time with her and learn the secrets behind those Allentian eyes, yes, but he didn’t want to be the captor holding her invisible bonds in place. His eyes flicked down to Demetrian. His father had a plan for everything. There must be some sort of strategy behind his decision that Kiernan didn’t yet see. Thus, he stayed quiet and kept his eyes open, trying to absorb as much information as he could.

“As Lord Il’Paolin is the [NAME OF THE GENERAL] and she would ultimately answer to him, I believe he should have a say in whether or not to allow the girl to train as a Rider,” said Lady Il’Paolin. There were soft murmurs of agreement and she turned to her husband.

The General stroked his thick beard, his eyebrows pulled down into a frown. “Susenn a’Sonn is fast approaching,” he said. “If she does not prove to us that she is stable by then, we shall take stronger action against her.”

A chill raced through Kiernan’s blood. The Summer festival wasn’t just fast approaching; it was only a few weeks away. While everyone else drank summer wine and wore thick clothes to mimic the effects of summer, since their climate never changed underground, he would have to prove to the Council of Five an innocent girl didn’t deserve to die. He swallowed at the impossible task before him. What did sane even look like? If she lost her temper, would they deem her dangerous to others? If she became sad and lost her appetite, would they consider her a danger to herself?

Demetrian glanced around the table. “If no one has any objections—”

The door to the council chamber burst inward with such force it rebounded off the walls with a loud _crash_. Kiernan whirled, shifting Fynn to one arm and using the other to reach for a sword at his hip that wasn’t there. All Riders were forbidden from carrying weapons in the palace unless they were on duty. His fingers curved around empty air and his jaw clenched.

Fortunately, he didn’t need his sword. An older woman with gray streaks in her dark brown hair and wide, frantic eyes flew into the room. She had a sizable frame and girl, but there was something oddly familiar about her. Kiernan squinted. It wasn’t in the ruddy cheeks or weak chin. It was something about the way she carried herself, a soft, quiet confidence with shoulders bowed.

“Please,” the woman blurted out. “Please, don’t—” A pair of guards rushed into the room after her and grabbed her by the arms. She gasped in shock and stumbled backwards, blinking rapidly like she couldn’t believe she’d just been manhandled.

Lady Il’Bellen rose. “Greslinn.”

Understanding clobbered Kiernan upside the head. Greslinn. The woman was Solarinn’s mother. That was why she’d looked so familiar. His lips parted in surprise. Other than their countenance, mother and daughter looked nothing alike. They didn’t have the same hair color, eye color, or even figure. It was staggering.

Demetrian stood and lifted a hand. The guards instantly backed off, though they remained within reach of the errant woman.

“What are you doing here?” asked Lady Il’Bellen and walked around the table towards her with slow, sedately steps.

Greslinn stepped forward as it meet her, but darted a glance at the guards and stopped. “Please, my Lady,” she said. “Please, don’t hurt my girl. I’ll bring her back, I promise. She’s not beyond saving.” The more she said, the faster she spoke, like she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get it all out before Lady Il’Bellen reached her. And, for the strangest reason, Kiernan felt the a sharp stab of fear emanate from the woman when the gray haired Lady of House Bellen came to a stop before her.

“Calm yourself, Greslinn.” Lady Il’Bellen rested a hand on the other woman’s shoulder, but Greslinn flinched as if struck. “Your daughter will come to no harm this day.”

Kiernan’s lips twitched. How convenient she failed to mention her safety extended only until Susenn a’Sonn in a few weeks. In his arms, Fynn squirmed until Kiernan set him down with a sigh. The terrier trotted towards Greslinn, his claws clicking on the tile, but stopped a few paces away and sniffed at the air.

Greslinn sagged with relief, one hand going to her chest. “Thank you, my Lady,” she whispered. “Thank you.” Though it seemed to Kiernan she was relieved more for herself than her daughter. He shook his head. He must’ve been mistaken or misread the emotions in the room.

“Well,” said Demetrian in a tone of grim amusement, “if there are no more interruptions, and no objections…?” He waited for a heartbeat of silence before blowing out a breath. “Then, we are agreed. Lady Clarian Il’Bellen will be Solarinn’s patron, and my son, Kiernan, will train her. This meeting is adjourned.”


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_Solarinn_

Solarinn spent the first day of her captivity raging at the people who’d trapped her. When she’d woken from a drug induced sleep, she’d found herself in a stone room. The only things within were a single cot filled with lumpy hay, a chamber pot reeking of urine that had flies bobbing around it, and a wooden door with a window set into the top. She’d gone immediately for the door on unsteady, wobbly legs, only to find it locked and barred.

That’s when the screaming began.

She kicked the wooden door until her feet ached. She pounded her fists against it until her hands were pink and raw. She shouted for them to release her until her voice was hoarse. Even then, she continued, past the point of pain or caring, driven by an energy that would not abate. It had lit a fire within her soul, and even without kindling it raged and roared within her.

When she wasn’t kicking, punching, or shouting, she was pacing, her slippers eating a path through the grimy floor. She couldn’t stop moving. If she sat down on the cot for a break, she bounced her leg up and down. If she stood by the door waiting for someone to come, she twined both fingers through her hair and fiddled with the tresses. Energy. She had too much energy. She needed to do something with it, to expend it before it drove her mad. Her body was a bucket filled to overflowing, and if she didn’t release a little bit she would overflow.

The second day, she ate whatever food and water they gave her to abate her hunger and thirst, even if the food smelled weird and the water had a strange taste.

On the third day, the energy bled from her body like water seeping through a broken dam. Solarinn breathed a sigh of relief and lay flat on her back on the cot, gazing up at the dark ceiling. She could barely make out the stone above her head, such was the darkness of the room with only the light from the window above the door. If she squinted, she was pretty sure she could see fragile, gray cobwebs in the corner. Before she could find it, she fell into a peaceful sleep.

On the fourth day, Solarinn began to question the beliefs that had driven her to such fervor. _Was_ she blessed by Lusce? If so, it would be odd for the blessing to manifest now. Nothing had changed in her daily life, except for the incident with the Touched. Her eyes widened. The Touched! That’s right. That was the evidence she was blessed. It had to be. Except other _sympathes_ were able to do the same thing…and was she meant to be Queen and Gra? Previously, she hadn’t even wanted the responsibility.

On the fifth day, clarity pierced the haze of madness around her brain and Solarinn came back to herself. It started in increments—questioning the delusions, attacking them with facts—but came to a resolution abruptly. The morning of that fifth day, her eyes opened, she gazed up at the ceiling, and a curtain opened in her mind, shedding light on the events of the past week.

The blood drained from Solarinn’s face. Oh, by Lasair. She’d truly believed herself to be blessed by Lusce and that she was destined to become Queen and Gra. Worse than that, she’d broadcast it to the Dragon Master and the rest of her _sympathe_ class. Lusce save her, she’d _fought_ the man to attend her Hatching, and against her mother’s wishes at that _._ It was utterly humiliating.

Head spinning, Solarinn rolled onto her side facing the wall and gripped her face in both hands. Tears of helpless frustration burned her eyes. What had set off her madness? She’d had the impulses, the mood swings, and the beliefs under control for so long. What changed? Through the fog in her brain—it was hard to remember exact details whenever she came out of an episode—Solarinn recalled the incident with the Touched. Her eyes widened. After she came into contact with the Touched, there had been a blast and flash of white light, then she’d been able to—

Slowly, she rose to her feet and stared down at herself. Someone, at some point, had changed her out of the _sympathe_ robe into a white night shift. She felt it between her thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was still good quality wool. If she was right, she was probably in the dungeons beneath House Bellen. Her lower lip trembled at the utter indignity of it, but she forced her chin up and walked towards the door.

Reaching up onto her tiptoes, she called through the window set into the door, “Hello?”

At first, nothing. Then, there was a slight rustle, followed by the tap of boot heels on stone. The soft glow of a torch illuminated the hallway outside her cell, and a second later, Lord Kiernan Il’Sansen stepped into view.

Solarinn stepped away from the door and blinked, blinded by the sudden light. As if realizing it, Lord Kiernan lowered the torch from the window, his brow furrowed with concern.

“My apologies,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m—” Solarinn cut off, a strangled sound escaping her. How _was_ she feeling? She didn’t know. Humiliated for her display in the Hatching Cavern. Nervous for what would happen now that she’d awoken in a cell. Mostly, she was scared by her mind and how it had trapped and tricked her.

“I don’t know,” she admitted truthfully.

Lord Kiernan shifted on the other side of the door, only his head visible as it bobbed back and forth through the bars. “I have…much to discuss with you. May I come in?”

Solarinn snorted. “By all means, enter my humble abode, good sir.” She swept an arm wide and dipped into a mocking curtsy. It was utterly ridiculous that he’d asked for permission to enter her _cell_ when she was a captive and he the free man.

Rather than the vitriole she expected, Lord Kiernan surprised her with a grin. His head disappeared, and she heard a scratch of metal grating on metal before there was a click and the door swung open. Light poured into the cell, bringing her surroundings into light. Her nose wrinkled. Suddenly, she preferred the dark. It looked far worse that way and made her feel less like a prisoner in a dirty, forgotten cell. 

Lord Kiernan stepped inside, still holding a torch, and she studied him. An aura of color surrounded the heir to House Sansen, the same way she remembered from the Hatching Cavern after she came into contact with the Touched. However, it was different this time. Solarinn squinted at him and he dropped her gaze, shifting his weight. The colors were muted, somehow, a bright painting that had dulled with age, and she lacked the discernment she’d had previously. She could tell by the blue he was worried about her, but she couldn’t tell if he was worried about her safety or worried about what she might do to his. And she still saw the pink regard, but it was tempered by something else—something she couldn’t identify—and she couldn’t decide if it was romantic or not.

“Do you want to sit down, or…?”

Oh, Lusce save her. If he wanted her to sit down before delivering news, it could only be bad. “No.” She clasped her hands at her waist and dug her fingers together until they ached. “What is it?”

Lord Kiernan took a deep breath, and a flurry of colors washed through his aura so fast Solarinn couldn’t identify them before they were gone. If their intensity was any indication, though, she was right; he wasn’t looking forward to whatever he had to tell her.

“The Council of Five believes you are Barokken but are willing to give you a chance to prove yourself,” he began. “Lady Clarian Il’Bellen has agreed to sponsor you, and I will be your trainer. If you show them before Susenn a’Sonn you are stable, you will be elevated to _ashe.”_

Solarinn’s mouth went dry. “And if I don’t…?”

Lord Kiernan glanced at the far wall and ran a hand through his beard. Little orange specks danced through his aura. It was a nervous gesture, despite his stony expression. “They will take more aggressive action against you.”

“So, they’ll kill me,” she said bluntly.

Lord Kiernan winced. “I didn’t say that.”

Solarinn scoffed. “I’m trapped in a dungeon.” She spread her arms wide in a grand gesture, as though showing off a palace instead of a grimy cell with flies buzzing around the refuse in the chamber bot. “What worse could they possibly do other than death?”

“It won’t come to that,” he said.

He sounded so confident Solarinn paused and cocked her head to the side. “Why do you care?” The words came out harsher than she meant, and she bit her lip. As quickly as her irritation had risen, it deflated, leaving remorse in its wake. Lord Kiernan hadn’t been the one to lock her in this cell. He didn’t deserve her irritation. That would be reserved for whoever had done this to her.

“Sorry, I’m—”

“The Council of Five assigned me to—”

They both stopped talking at the same time.

After an awkward beat of silence, they started talking again.

“What were you going to—”

“Please, after you—”

Silence. Lord Kiernan watched her with obvious hesitation, his face a neutral mask. Solarinn cracked a grin at the uncomfortable situation—they were both too polite for their own good—and it shattered Lord Kirenan’s discomfort. He smiled back, but it was the tight-lipped smile again, a little shy and uncertain.

It was rather cute.

“What were you going to say?” she asked.

Lord Kiernan shook his head. “No, please, you started talking first.”

Solarinn sighed. She didn’t want to go back and forth anymore. “I said, I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s not your fault. I’m just…” She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m on edge.”

Lord Kiernan blinked, colorful surprise flickering in his aura. Solarinn winced. Had she really come across that mean and ornery?

“It’s alright,” he said. “I understand. You’ve been through a lot.”

A knot inside Solarinn’s chest loosened. She smiled. “Thank you. Now, it’s your turn.”

“The Council of Five assigned me to train you in the ways of the Riders,” he said. “We’ll spend the next quarter week together up until the Summer festival.”

Solarinn gaped at the young lord. Why had the Council of Five assigned someone as important as the heir to Golden House Sansen to train her? Surely there were less important Riders available. It made no sense to her, and the unknown added to her anxiety. Lord Kiernan was a new puzzle she couldn’t solve, and she hated things she didn’t understand. Her brow furrowed. Her lips pursed. He must’ve been assigned to her for a reason she didn’t yet know. Walls rose around her heart and mind, securing her safely inside. She would have to keep an eye on him.

Lord Kiernan shifted, his fingers tapping a restless beat against his pant leg. “Is that…alright?”

Solarinn looked him up and down. “I suppose you’ll do,” she said in a deceptively sweet voice.

It took a moment for Lord Kiernan to pick up on the fact she was teasing him, and another smile graced his handsome face. “I’m glad to hear it. If you’ll come with me, Lady Il’Delvan has requested an audience with you.”

Her throat closed. “Lady Clarian?” she asked, her throat raspy. “Why?”

“I assume it’s because she’s your patron,” he said.

She shook her head. Once again, it didn’t make sense. An important political figure like Lady Il’Delvan wouldn’t stoop to meet with a lowly Rider apprentice. She was overwhelmed at the thought of meeting the high lady. Was it proper to curtsy in front of nobility? She’d never tried before. What if she said something offensive without realizing it? Her heart raced, and she wrung her hands out at her waist.

Either unaware of her plight or uncaring, Lord Kiernan turned and opened the cell door for her. She gathered the skirts of her night shift into bunched fists and strode forward. After the first step, the world tilted dangerously, and she staggered.

Lord Kiernan reached for her but stopped before touching her. He held out his arms to her, there for support if she needed it but not invading her personal space. She grabbed onto him to steady herself, her head spinning. Her ears rang and her vision grew blurry. Once it cleared, she saw his worried face staring down at her.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, just lightheaded,” she murmured.

He nodded. “That’s to be expected.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the side effect of the drug you were given.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Drug?”

“Ah, yes…” He straightened and cleared his throat. “Lady Il’Delvan asked her physician to prepare a concoction to…stabilize you.”

She stared mutely at the ground. They had drugged her to bring her back from the edge of madness. She hated it had come to that but was grateful it had worked. Who knew how long it would’ve taken to come back to herself on her own? Still, it was mortifying to realize she’d been so out of control they’d had to drug her. It made her feel weak. She should be able to manage this on her own. The other _sympathes_ experienced the same mental instability—it was the cost of their magic—but they hadn’t crumpled beneath the weight of it.

When she didn’t respond, Lord Kiernan eased out of her grasp and left the cell. Solarinn followed him, her gait steadier with each step she took. They passed through a narrow corridor crafted of the same gray stone. At the end of the hallway was a stairwell, and they climbed its shallow steps. After a few minutes, fresh air replaced the dank, dusty smell of the dungeons, and a glow came into view.

Lord Kiernan doused the torch and unlocked another wooden door at the top of the stairs. It opened with a creak of unoiled hinges and deposited them in a wide room with a guard seated behind a desk. He stood at their approach and bowed to Lord Kiernan. He wore the livery of Golden House Delvan, lilac and silver, and his hair was clean shaven in the way of the grounder military.

On the ground by his feet was Shadow. Solarinn’s heart swelled. Her _aankor_ was playng with another black terrier who was bulkier and thicker than him. They growled and nipped at each other in open-mouthed play, tails wagging. She smiled. It was nice to see him so happy. Since he was constantly by her side, he hadn’t played with very many other dogs.

She took a step forward. “Shadow.” At the sound of her voice, Shadow lifted his head. When he spotted her, he bounded to his feet and rushed for her with a happy bark. She knelt and scooped her into his arms. A happy laugh burst from her, and she cradled him. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed him until she had him in her arms again. Being without him for the past who knew how long had left her empty inside. It was like she’d been trying to run without the use of her legs or write a letter while missing an arm. She simply couldn’t function without him.

The other dark terrier started barking at her, taking an aggressive stance with his ears lowered. Solarinn studied the emotive colors swirling around him and understood. He wouldn’t harm her, he was worried for the sake of his new friend.

“Fynn.” Lord Kiernan stepped forward and shooed the dog away. Fynn must’ve been his _aankor_. “Enough.” But the terrier—Fynn—kept barking.

Solarinn stood with Shadow in her arms. “It’s alright.” She walked towards the dog. Fynn scurried backwards with a growl, but she lowered herself to the ground and held out a hand. The terrier planted his back feet on the tiled floor but strained forward as far as his short torso would allow to sniff at her hand.

After a moment, his ears lifted and he licked her hand with a huff. Chuckling, Solarinn tried to pet his head but he shied away from her. Well, at least he’d stopped barking.

When she stood and faced Lord Kiernan, he wore a look of admiration on his face. The colors swirling around him were pink and yellow pastels. All she knew was he appeared grateful, and a touch of something else she couldn’t name. It frustrated her that his emotions were a closed book to her now, whereas before they’d been opened. She couldn’t help but wonder if the drugs had anything to do with that.

She cocked a brow, wanting to know. “What?”

He cleared his throat and jerked his gaze away from her. “Nothing. Come.” He walked past the guard without a word and Fynn darted after him, trotting at his heels. She lingered and peered down at the ledger. Her name was somewhere on the long list of prisoners, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it said about her. _Crazy. Lunatic. Dangerous._ Bitterness filled her stomach with chunks of coal, and she hurried away, wanting to put as much distance between her and that damning list as possible.

The dungeons were tucked away into a corner of the estate. When Solarinn emerged from the building, she was momentarily blinded by the reddish glow overhead after being in the gloom for so long. She lifted one hand to shield her eyes and squinted. It looked to be seven or eight past sunrise. By Lusce, how long had she been in the episode?

Setting Shadow on the ground, she followed Lord Kiernan into the residential buildings of the staff. A chill of foreboding raced down her spine. An eerie silence hung over the estate. Normally, people would be awake at this hour, preparing for the day or running errands. Instead, there wasn’t a single soul to be seen. After they rounded a corner and walked down the main street towards the Delvan mansion, she finally saw someone. A mother walked with her son in tow, yawning into her hand.

Recognizing them, Solarinn nodded at the chef and her son. The chef lifted her head and caught sight of Solarinn. She froze, her eyes wide. Solarinn opened her mouth to say a greeting, but before she could speak a word, the woman grabbed her son and ran to hide in one of the buildings. Acid burned Solarinn’s gut. The people she’d been raised with and known her entire lives treated her like a stranger.

Helpless tears blurred Solarinn’s vision. She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve, her arm trembling. She should’ve known this would happen. She was Barokken. Broken. Condemned by the crown and Council of Five to death if she didn’t prove her sanity by next quarter week. They shouldn’t be anywhere near her. They should be scared of her. By the Underground, she was scared of herself.

She pushed these thoughts from her mind and tried not to pay attention to the silent, barren streets of the estate. The mansion came into view, its gravel driveway lined by rose bushes and a few willow trees in the lawn. They walked up a set of broad steps and were led inside by a maid who met them at the door.

Solarinn’s breath caught. She set Shadow down and turned in a circle to take in the manion. It was nothing like she’d expected. In her mind, it was opulent and dazzling, with fine crystal displays and priceless paintings. Instead, it was cluttered with artifacts from all across the world. There was a prayer shawl from the shamans in Ash’Kana hanging from the wall. On an ivory base stood an enormous, white tooth from the Sariellan Kionnas in the icy lands of the north. It was disorganized, without rhyme or reason to the placement of the objects, but Solarinn liked it. It was quaint, looking as though someone lived in the home and enjoyed their treasures rather than leaving them to collect dust.

Lord Kiernan waited for at the other end of the long hall. Blushing, Solarinn hurried to catch up with him. Shadow pranced forward and leapt on Fynn, growling and biting at his ears. Fynn shook him off and lunged at his paws, forcing Shadow to dance backwards. While the two started to play fight, Solarinn followed Lord Kiernan through a set of double doors that led into an antechamber with two spiraling staircases leading to a second level and doors on either side. A glass chandelier hung from the ceiling overhead, casting the white rug below—it looked to be a pelt of the fabled arctic wolves from Bolstya—into dazzling color.

And there, standing beneath it with a stern expression on her face, was Greslinn.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Solarinn_

Solarinn went rigid. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She had no idea what to expect from her mother. She’d never been the doting type—when Solarinn fell ill as a child, she tended to her health but never comforted or coddled her—but Solarinn had also disobeyed her wishes. Greslinn had forbidden her from attending the Hatching and she’d gone. Even though she hadn’t been in her right mind, Greslinn might still take it as disobedient and disrespectful.

Greslinn strode forward to meet her, hands clasped at her waist. Lord Kiernan stepped back to give them a moment of privacy, but a part of Solarinn didn’t want him to leave her to face this alone.

“Are you well?” asked Greslinn in a brisk, no-nonsense voice.

“Yes, mami.” Solarinn squinted at her mother. Her colors were surprisingly calm. There was yellow irritation and brown exhaustion as usual, but nothing else seemed amiss. She blinked, and stopped. No. There. So small she barely caught it; dark orange fear. The blood drained from her face. Was Greslinn scared of her?

“Good.” Greslinn’s brown eyes flickered to Lord Kiernan. “Did he tell you everything?”

“I believe so,” said Solarinn, distracted by her thoughts. Greslinn had never shown her affection, it was true, but she never doubted her mother’s love. It was evident in the way she made sure all her needs were met and the way she sought every opportunity for Solarinn to be successful. But for Greslinn to fear her…her throat tightened.

“What did he say?”

Solarinn took in a shaky breath. “Lady Clarian Il’Delvan has sponsored me, and I must prove my stability to the Council of Five by the start of Susenn a’Sonn or be put to death.” 

Her mother nodded as if Solarinn hadn’t just announced her potential death in one quarter weeks time. “Then you know everything you need to know.” Turning, she walked towards a gleaming, oak door to their right. “You will join Lady Clarian for breakfast as her official guest. I expect you to behave yourself. I’ll watch Shadow. She bent and picked up Shadow, tucking him under one arm. Solarinn’s throat tightened, but she didn’t make a move to take him back.

“Yes, mami,” murmured Solarinn and walked at her heels. The muscles in her shoulders tightened, hunching towards her ears in a defensive stance. She tried and failed to relax, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. 

Greslinn knocked on the door. A maid answered and, upon seeing them, opened the door wider. Greslinn stepped aside and gestured for Solarinn to proceed alone. Taking in a deep breath, she envisioned the invisible shield wrapping around herself and protecting herself from the pressure of other people’s emotions. With her head held high, she strode into the room with Shadow.

It turned out to be a private dining room. A smaller chandelier hung from the ceiling, the orange light filtered through the windows casting a hazy glow over the room. Pictures hung from the walls; once again a mismatched assortment of artworks from various cultures around the worlds. There was a small, cherry wood table in the center of the room with cushioned, straight-backed chairs around it.

At the head of the table sat Lady Clarian. Solarinn stopped and stared, not realizing the maid had closed the door behind her and left her alone with the lady of Golden House Delvan. She expected the lady to be an intimidating figure, but she was the opposite. Like her home, she had a quaint feel, with ruddy, wrinkled cheeks that had smiled often and warm, bluish-gray eyes. When she smiled, it touched her eyes and made her own face come alight. Without thinking, Solarinn smiled back.

“Welcome, my child.” Lady Clarian rose from her seat and moved around the table, one hand on the wood to support herself.

Unsure how to react, Solarinn started forward. She started to curtsy only to have Lady Clarian reach for her. Jerking backwards, she tried to take the lady’s hand, thinking she was supposed to kiss it, but the old woman pulled her into a bone crushing hug. The force of the embrace forced the breath from her lungs in one loud grunt. Solarinn went rigid. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held like this. She must’ve been a babe. It was equal parts comforting and discomfiting. She couldn’t decide whether to return the embrace or pull back, and ended up standing there in awkward silence.

Finally, Lady Clarian released her and stepped back, her face beaming. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Solarinn.”

Solarinn’s brows rose. “Finally?” After a slight pause, she added hastily, “My lady.”

Lady Clarian waved a hand and resumed her seat. “Please, take a seat,” she said, ignoring Solarinn’s question.

Frowning, Solarinn sank into the chair the lady had specified. The moment she was settled, Lady Clarian rang a sweetly chiming, golden bell. The maid from earlier re-appeared with a cart filled with food. Solarinn’s stomach growled and cramped with hunger, her mouthwatering. By the gods, how long had it been since she’d had a full meal instead of the grits, water, and bread they’d given her?

Still, she sat straight in the chair and kept her hands folded in her lap, unsure how the protocol worked for dining with nobility.

Lady Clarian’s warm smile returned, crinkling the edges of her eyes. “Please, do not rest upon formality, dear. You must be starving. Eat as much as you like, I asked them to prepare plenty.” She gestured toward the cart.

That was all the permission Solarinn needed. When the maid brought the cart to a stop beside her, she descended upon it. She took heaping helpings of the creamed eggs, spicy honey bacon, milk biscuits, and shredded potatoes. Before the maid even had a chance to take the cart to Lady Clarian, Solarinn dug in like a ravenous beast. She inhaled the food, hardly daring to take a breath between bites. It was delicious. The eggs light and fluffy. The bacon a perfect blend of sweet and spicy, the juicy grease making her fingers slick. The milk biscuits were absolutely heavenly, breaking apart like butter and releasing puffs of steam, and the shredded potatoes were perfectly charred and crunchy.

A few minutes into her meal, the maid returned with a tray of drinks. Solarinn chose the orange juice and gulped it down, the tart taste puckering her lips. Delicious. Absolutely delicious.

“How are you feeling?” asked Lady Clarian.

Solarinn swallowed a mouthful of butter biscuits and nearly choked. She followed it up with some orange juice and cleared her throat. “Much better, my lady.”

Lady Clarian smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes and the colors in her aura. “You do not have to lie to me, my dear.”

Solarinn froze, a piece of crispy bacon forgotten halfway to her mouth. “Excuse me?”

Lady Clarian spooned some sugar onto a beautiful, rose colored grapefruit. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, Solarinn. It must have been difficult when you awakened as an _empathe_ and—”

“What?” Solarinn dropped the bacon. It hit the table with a _plop_ , leaving a greasy stain behind on the smooth, polished surface. Ducking her head, Solarinn scrubbed it clean with a napkin and set it back on the table. “I’m sorry, I awakened as a what?”

Lady Clarian frowned, her spoon hovering over the grapefruit. “Has no one told you yet?”

She shook her head.

Lady Clarian sighed and speared a sliver of the fruit onto her spoon. “Well, I suppose they might not have realized it yet. I alone have seen it with my own eyes. They may not even believe it exists outside of myths and legends,” she mused, almost speaking to herself. She popped the fruit into her mouth and chewed with a distant look in her grayish-blue eyes.

Solarinn wanted to throttle the old woman for talking nonsense instead of explaining what had happened to her. “Pardon me, my lady, but what is an _empathe_?”

Lady Clarian took her time chewing and swallowing. “Have you ever been to the palace library, my dear?”

Solarinn started at the unexpected question. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s the most detailed and expansive recollection of text and literature in Salachar,” said Lady Clarian with a hungry gleam in her grayish-blue eyes. “If you have questions about yourself and your heritage, you will find it there.”

Solarinn ground her teeth together, barely managing to contain her annoyance. “Will you tell me, please?”

Lady Clarian smiled. “Would you believe me if I did? I am no one to you, my dear. At least, not yet.” There was a twinkle in her eyes as she said those words.

Solarinn hesitated. She had a good point. Solarinn had served in Lady Clarian’s estate for her entire life—running menial errands for her mother or sometimes helping her with duties in the mansion rearing the Lady’s grandchildren—but she’d never interacted with the woman before today. How could Solarinn trust she was telling the truth? She chewed on her bottom lip. No, Lady Clarian was right. It was best for her to find the answers for herself.

She tucked away those pieces of information— _empathe;_ royal library—away in her mind for later use.

“Now, how are you feeling?” asked Lady Clarian and picked up her spoon once more.

“I’m—” Solarinn cut herself off before she uttered a rehearsed, _fine._ Was she fine? Something told her if she lied, Lady Clarian would be able to tell. More than that, there was something so open and honest about the lady that made her _want_ to tell the truth. She had been direct and forthcoming with Solarinn thus far, and she deserved the same courtesy.

“I’m tired.” Her shoulders drooped. “And frustrated. And defeated.” She sagged farther with each word that left her lips.

“Why is that?” Lady Clarian chewed on a piece of grapefruit and wiped the juices from her chin with a napkin.

Solarinn closed her eyes. “I lost control. I barged into a Hatching without permission. And I—” The last bit choked her. “I fought the Dragon Master,” she whispered, shame burning her cheeks a fiery red. “I’m…” _Barokken._ She couldn’t bring herself to speak the words that would seal her fate. “…losing my mind.”

“You also saved a young girl’s life,” said Lady Clarian. Bright colors of pride swirled around her, accompanying the pink affection and bursting sparks of joy.

Solarinn’s eyes flew wide. Her lips parted in wordless surprise. That’s right. In all the madness that occurred afterwards, she’d forgotten about Arianna. The reminder and the force of Lady Clarian’s positive, uplifting emotions eased the weight of guilt on her shoulders, but only slightly.

“I forgot. How is she?”

“Arianna is resting and recovering,” said Lady Clarian. “But she will be fine. You did a brave, noble thing that day, my dear.” The lady took her time carving a jewel of pink fruit from the grapefruit. “Do you understand exactly what you did?”

“No.” Solarinn sighed. “But I assume you’re going to tell me to research it in the royal library.” She didn’t make a move to resume eating. The turn in the conversation had caused her to lose her appetite.

Lady Clarian chuckled, still scooping little marbles of grapefruit onto her plate. “I am not quite sure myself,” she admitted, “but I do know one thing.” She pinned Solarinn with a hard, meaningful look. “You survived the Touch where countless others have died within minutes.”

Solarinn went very, very still. “Other _sympathes_ have—”

“But never alone,” Lady Clarian cut in. “They always had at least ten other _sympathes_ there to anchor them, not including their _drachon_ or _aankors_. Ever since the Touched began invading our country almost two decades ago, you have done something no one thought possible.”

Surprise fluttered Solarinn’s eyelashes. Since she’d grown up with the Touched as a daily part of existence in Salachese society, she’d assumed they’d always existed. But if they’d only manifested two decades ago…

“What do you mean?” she asked slowl, carefully.

While she waited for an answer, the door at the other end of the room leading to the staff quarter’s opened to reveal the maid. She walked forward in the purple and silver livery of House Delvan and pushed a cart filled with cups, saucers, and two pots; one filled with the heavy, earthy scent of coffee, the other with the herbal scent of tea.

Solarinn perked up at the smell of the coffee and inhaled a good whiff. She’d missed coffee dearly over the past few days.

Lady Clarian sat back and gestured at the tea. She sat in silence while the maid bobbed her head and prepared the tea for her, pouring the dark brown, steaming liquid into a delicate, porcelain teacup. After setting a platter of sugar cubes and vat of cream before her, the maid walked to Solarinn’s side.

“I’ll have the coffee, please,” she said.

The maid bobbed her head with a smile and prepared it for her. Once she’d left, the door closing behind her in near silence, Solarinn poured cream into the coffee and added a few lumps of sugar. She loved coffee, but only if she tasted the bitterness as a mild aftertaste. She didn’t understand how people could drink it black. Her nose scrunched in disgust at the thought.

Lady Clarian waited for Solarinn to take a bracing sip before continuing. “It is my understanding you must prove your stability by Susenn a’Sonn, am I correct?”

Solarinn’s hand shook as she set the cup back on its saucer, causing the porcelain to rattle. “As I understand it,” she murmured.

“If you were to become a hero, they wouldn’t very well be able to sentence your execution, now would they?”

Solarinn lifted her head to peer down the table at the older woman. A few wisps of her gray hair had broken free of its coifed bun and framed her face, making her look like a kindly matron in the estate rather than its lady. She seemed so sweet, so unassuming, yet what she suggested…Solarinn’s thoughts raced.

“You want me to find a way to eradicate the Touched for good.”


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_Solarinn_

Lady Clarian smiled. “I knew you were a bright girl.”

Solarinn’s mouth went dry. She couldn’t even help herself. How was she supposed to help save the lives of tens of thousands by destroying the Touched? She wasn’t even sure her sanity would survive that long.

“How? I can’t—”

“It’s very important to learn your history, my dear,” Lady Clarian cut in. “Do you want to know why?”

Solarinn frowned. “Um…yes?”

Lady Clarian took a sip of her tea; she’d used nearly as much cream and sugar as Solarinn had. “History tends to repeat itself. If we don’t learn from the past, we’re doomed to repeat the same mistakes and never break the cycle.”

Solarinn’s eyes narrowed. “Do you enjoy speaking in cryptic riddles, or is this pleasure reserved for me?” she said before she could catch herself. The instant the words left her lips, Solarinn wished she could take them back. Her face went paler than the white tiles underfoot. There was more bite in her voice than she’d intended—her emotions were still sensitive after the events of the past few days—and Greslinn had specifically told her to behave. She was pretty sure that didn’t include mouthing off to the lady of Golden House Delvan, their benefactor.

To her relief, Lady Clarian laughed. It crinkled the corners of her eyes in a maternal way. “Unfortunately, you’re receiving special treatment, my dear,” she said. “But only because I know you’re smart enough to figure it out by yourself, with a little guidance.”

Solarinn shook her head with a huff of annoyance. “But why don’t you—”

“The old saying goes, _Give a grounder a ride to the palace, and you help him for a day. Tell him how to build a wagon to get to the palace and help him for a lifetime.”_

Solarinn rolled her eyes. “These riddles are for my own growth and development,” she said in a drawl, imitating the other nobles she’d overheard by elaborating the enunciation on each word to make them seem far more eloquent than they were.

Lady Clarian’s smile returned. “Precisely.”

“Why? Why are you helping me?” she asked. “I’m no one.” The truth of those words struck Solarinn and carved an empty hole in her chest. She was less than no one. She was Barokken. She deserved the lady’s censure, not her support.

Red hot anger sparked in Lady Clarian’s aura so suddenly Solarinn leaned away from her, nearly knocking over her coffee. “You are not no one,” said Lady Clarian, her expression hard. “You are—” She cut herself off and took in a deep, calming breath. The anger faded from her aura, replaced by lake blue sadness. She smiled, but this time, it didn’t reach her eyes. “Suffice to say, I am very fond of your mother, my dear. That is why I am helping you.”

Solarinn tried to keep her expression blank. Given the amount of care and affection she’d shown her daughter, Solarinn couldn’t begin to imagine what Greslinn had done to earn such fondness from the lady.

When Lady Clarian didn’t speak, clearly expecting an answer, she said, “I see.”

Lady Clarian’s smile widened, faint purple amusement shimmering around her. “Are you finished?” she asked and gestured at the meal.

Solarinn nodded. “Yes. Thank you,” she added hastily. “It was delicious.”

“I’m glad you think so. If you’ll permit it, I would like you to join me for a meal at least once a week,” said Lady Clarian. “It doesn’t matter if it’s breakfast, lunch, or dinner.”

Solarinn blinked. Now she _really_ wanted to know what Greslinn had done for Lady Clarian. “Yes, I’d like that.” It wasn’t a lie, either. Solarinn found she quite enjoyed spending time with Lady Clarian. Not only was the food the best she’d ever tasted—and she didn’t even have words for the perfectly roasted coffee—but Lady Clarian had an infectious energy about her, and whereas Greslinn was cold as ice, she was warm as the twin suns. Solarinn found herself craving that the way a blossoming flower craves sunshine.

Lady Clarian’s face softened, the hard lines around her eyes and mouth easing, and it wasn’t until that moment Solarinn realized the lady had been nervous she might reject her offer. “Wonderful.” Reaching for the golden bell again, she shook it, filling the room with sweet chimes.

The maid re-appeared with a curtsy.

“Please summon Elwin,” said Lady Clarian.

Solarinn’s eyebrows arched. Elwin was the House midwife and mother of Arianna, the child she’d saved from the Touched. Why was Lady Clarian bringing her into a private breakfast? Sweat gathered in her palms, and she wiped it on the cotton of her shift. Her stomach roiled, the breakfast sitting too heavy in her stomach.

Within a matter of minutes, Solarinn had her answer. There came a knock at the door before Elwin stepped inside. Her silver gown embroidered with purple hugged a plump frame, with curly brown hair framing a round face and dark lashes bracketing pale brown eyes, so pale they resembled vast oceans of sand.

Elwin bowed. “My lady.”

Solarinn shrank away from her and sank into the chair, trying to turn invisible. It was one thing to see the people of Delvan estate ignore her from afar, but it was quite another to be faced with their derision in the flesh. She didn’t want to know what the midwife—the very woman who had helped birth her—thought of her now that she was Barokken. She couldn’t bear to look into her familiar, pale brown eyes to see disgust. Actually, she couldn’t decide which would be worst; disgust, or fear.

“Thank you for coming, Elwin. Did you bring the tincture?” asked Lady Clarian.

“Yes, my lady.” Finally, Elwin caught sight of Solarinn. She gasped, one hand flying to her chest and her eyes widening. Solarinn sucked in a breath and went rigid as the midwife’s eyes swept over her from head to toe. A tremor rocked through her. She held her breath, waiting for Elwin to start shouting, or screaming, or—

“Solarinn! I’m so glad you’re safe! When we’d heard about the incident at the Hatching Cavern I had no idea what to think. You poor girl, you must’ve been terrified locked up in the dungeons like that. It’s not humane, it isn’t.” The midwife bustled forward and drew Solarinn to her feet before giving her a fierce hug that made her stumble backwards.

Solarinn was in such shock she merely stood there, numb and unresponsive, while Elwin held her. It was the second time in the same day she’d been embraced, which was more than she’d experienced in over a decade.

Elwin released her, but only long enough to pull back and fret over her. She brushed Solarinn’s auburn hair away from her face. She cupped Solarinn’s cheeks in her palms like she had to remind herself Solarinn was real and safe. She perused her from head to toe again as though Solarinn had hidden an injury from her.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked. “Lady Clarian told me they gave you a strong sedative. It may take a few days for it to fully leave your system.” Her lips pursed in displeasure. “I wish they would’ve spoken to me about it, first—they gave a small little thing like you enough to knock out a man twice your size!—but it is what it is.”

“I’m fine,” said Solarinn, but the word came out rough with emotion. She cleared her throat and blushed.

Elwin smiled and patted her cheek. “I know, sweetheart,” she said. “I know. But we’ll take care of that, don’t you worry. I’m not letting them sedate you like that again, not if I have anything to say about it.” While keeping one hand on Solarinn’s shoulder, Elwin removed a vial from her belt and held it out to Lady Clarian. It was white as ground sugar but didn’t have a smell Solarinn could detect.

“The tincture you requested, my lady,” said Elwin.

“Have you tested it?” asked Lady Clarian.

Elwin nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

“Good. You may proceed.”

Nodding again, Elwin uncorked the vial and handed it to Solarinn.

Solarinn stared at it in confusion. “What is that?”

“You’re not the first _empathe_ we’ve known, my dear,” said Lady Clarian. “Every _sympathe_ struggles with mental stability because of their magic, but your magic is so powerful it makes your struggle tenfold worse.”

Solarinn winced. “Wonderful,” she muttered.

“However, there are ways to help.” Lady Clarian pointed at the vial of white liquid. “That is a tincture Elwin created years ago. It helps regulate the body’s systems, including the mind, to hopefully give you more stability.”

Solarinn stared at her. “That’s…possible?”

Elwin giggled, her entire body shaking. “Yes, sweetheart, it is. But it’s not a cure, mind you—not that there’s anything to cure,” she muttered with an irritated shake of her head. “It’s simply a…like a crutch, if you will, to help stabilize you until you can walk on your own.”

_Until I can walk on my own._ Solarinn’s throat closed. Was that even possible? If she was Barokken…

“Every body and mind is different, so we may need to adjust the tincture, but—”

“It won’t work,” Solarinn blurted out.

Elwin’s mouth fell open. “What? What are you talking about?”

“You must take the medicine, Solarinn,” said Lady Clarian in a firm voice. 

Solarinn shook her head with tears in her eyes. “I’m Barokken,” she said in a croak and wrapped her arms around herself. “It won’t work.” The medicine wouldn’t work, and she was certainly too broken to find a way to stop the Touched by herself. If she was Barokken, it meant her life was over. She was doomed the minute she touched that wraith and awakened as an _empathe_ , if Lady Clarian could be believed.

“You are not Barokken,” said Lady Clarian slowly. “You are an _empathe_. There’s a difference.”

“But I lost it,” said Solarinn, her voice rising to a near shout such was her emotional turmoil. “I disobeyed Greslinn, skipped my classes, and fought the Dragon Master.”

“You weren’t in your right mind—”

“Because I’m Barokken,” she shouted. Her entire body trembled, and her knees went weak. Stumbling to the side, she slumped into her seat and tried valiantly not to cry. She bit down on her bottom lip nearly hard enough to draw blood, the table blurry before her through a veil of tears.

There was a soft rustle followed by the whisper of slippers on the rug. A warm hand fell on Solarinn’s shoulder and she winced. When she looked up into Lady Clarian’s kind face, a single tear slipped free.

“Why are you treating me like I’m normal?” she whispered.

“Because you are.” Lady Clarian wiped the tear from her cheek with a thumb. “Everyone has their own version of normal. This is the new normal for you.”

_The new normal._ Those words struck a chord within Solarinn. She couldn’t imagine her situation as being normal, yet she couldn’t deny the words felt right.

Reaching into her robe, Lady Clarian pulled out a dagger the size of Solarinn’s forearm. It was so unexpected Solarinn jumped, her eyes widening.

Lady Clarian gazed at the dagger fondly. “Conniern gave this to me on our wedding day,” she murmured. “Its name is Fenril, named for the God of Truth.” Fenril was exquisite; carved from bone-white ivory with a golden hilt shaped around it like a singular eye. In the center of the base of the blade where the iris of the sculpted eye would be was an enormous emerald. It winked at her in the light of the chandelier overhead, and goosebumps sprouted on Solarinn’s skin.

Solarinn frowned “Why are you telling me this? I don’t understand.”

“I am telling you because I want you to have it.” Lady Clarian extended the dagger towards her. “It has been in the Delvan family line for centuries, and it has always brought me a measure of comfort and peace. I am hoping it will do the same for you, and help you see the truth about yourself.”

A numb sensation spread through Solarinn. The truth was that she was Barokken, and she there was no hope for her. Her time was limited if she couldn’t prove she was stable to the Council of Five, and that was an impossible task. She’d proven as much during her outburst at the Hatching the previous week. 

Solarinn shook her head. “I can’t do that. It belongs to Golden House Delvan. It’s a family heirloom.”

Lady Clarian’s smile was kind yet sad. “I know. Consider it a loan. Keep it with you until you learn the truth about yourself.” The lady took Solarinn’s hand and wrapped her limp fingers around the hilt of the dagger. The moment her skin touched Fenril, a shock of electricity ran up her arm and left tingles in its wake. The emerald seemed to glow, an ember alight in its core.

Solarinn jumped, but a cool sensation instantly numbed the sharp pain. A sense of rightness filled her lungs in a breath of fresh air. She was meant for Fenril, and Fenril was meant for her. The strength of that conviction terrified her—was she delusional again?—and she kept it at a distance, even while she reveled in it.

“Will you accept this gift?” asked Lady Clarian.

Solarinn hesitated. “You really want me to have it?” Now that she’d touched Fenril, she didn’t want to be parted from it, but it still belonged to the heirs of Golden House Delvan, not to her.

Lady Clarian nodded. “Yes.”

A trembling smile lifted Solarinn’s lips. “I will. Thank you.”

Lady Clarian patted her hand and straightened. “Good. You must promise me you will not let the words of the Council of Five affect you.” She flicked a dismissive hand. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, and you cannot let anyone else decide your fate. Your life and your destiny are your own. They do not have the right to decide you are Barokken. Only you know your heart and mind.”

Solarinn ducked her chin. She wasn’t sure she could do that, but after the precious gift Lady Clarian had given her, she couldn’t deny her anything. “Yes, my lady,” she murmured.

“Good.” Lady Clarin turned an expectant look on Elwin, who steped forward with the vial.

Solarinn accepted the medicine but didn’t take it. Instead, she held it in a white-knuckled grip, Fenril held fiercely in her other hand. She wavered between wanting to take the medicine to become stable, and not trusting it to work. Her jaw clenched. Before she could talk herself out of it, Solarinn uncorked the vial and downed the medicine in one swallow.

It had a chalky taste that nearly made her gag, but she managed to swallow with a grimace.

Elwin clapped her hands together in delight, her eyers wide. “Wonderful, sweetheart! Just wonderful. That should help you feel better in a few days, but I want you to come see me once a week to track your progress, alright?” 

Solarinn nodded, unable to speak. She still couldn’t believe these women treated her as just another Salachese citizen and staff of the Devlan estate rather than the dangerous Barokken she was.

“Excellent. Now.” Lady Clarian reached for the golden bell again and quirked a knowing brow at Solarinn. “Would you like to meet your _drachon_?”


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_Solarinn_

At those words, all thoughts of Barokken, precious family heirlooms, and the Council of Five vanished from Solarinn’s head.

“What?” she asked, the word carried on a breath. Had she Bonded with a _drachon_ and not realized it? The sedative they’d given her had enshrouded her mind in fog, but she thought she’d be aware of something like that. Solarinn threw her arms into the air. Had she missed the telltale markings of a Rider?

She frowned. No, her skin was still smooth and unblemished.

Elwin giggled, raising a hand to her plump lips. “Goodness, I thought she knew! I bet it was the drugs.” She clucked her tongue and planted her hands on her hips with a severe frown. “I don’t those louts and nitwits to go through me the next time they try to tend or drug one Delvan’s staff. We take care of our own. I can’t believe they—”

“Elwin.”

A word from Lady Clarian silenced the midwife.

Pinching her lips together, Elwin folded her hands at her waist and bowed her head.

“You are dismissed,” said Lady Clarian, but it wasn’t unkind or harsh. If anything, it was a gentle suggestion.

Elwin bobbed her head, brown hair bouncing. “Yes, my lady. Of course, my lady. I do apologize, my mouth tends to run away with me sometimes. And what with Solarinn being…” She trailed off with a shake of her head. “You know it’s important to me, my lady.”

Lady Clarian nodded. “I do.”

Elwin smiled with relief. “Good. Good. Ah, yes, I’m dismissed.” She started towards the door but paused with her handle on the knob. “Solarinn? You’ll come see me in one week’s time?”

Solarinn nodded.

Elwin beamed. “Excellent! Then, have a lovely day, sweetheart. Oh, and enjoy your _drachon_! I want to meet her the next time I see you. I’ve never seen a newborn _drachon_ , you know. The elder ones guarding the estate, of course, but—”

“Elwin,” said Lady Clarian in exasperation.

Spots of color blossomed on the woman’s cheeks. “Yes, yes, my apologies.” With one final flutter of her waves in farewell, Elwin left the room and closed the door behind her with a click.

Solarinn spun to Lady Clarian, clutching Fenril to her chest. “What was she talking about?”

Lady Clarian made a quizzical noise in the back of her throat and rang for a maid to clean up their meal.

“She said, _and with Solarinn being…”_

Lady Clarian glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “You are the young woman who saved her daughter’s life, are you not?”

“Oh. Right. I hadn’t thought about that.” Solarinn swallowed the uneasy feeling that there was more significance to those words than she was letting on.

While a set of maids came in to take away the dirty dishes and clean the table, Lady Clarian walked over and took Solarinn’s elbow, steering her towards the door. “Arianna is a shy, reserved child,” said Lady Clarian. “I know Elwin has fretted constantly about her fitting in and finding friends. I don’t think Elwin expected anyone to even notice Arianna if she was in trouble.”

Solarinn frowned. “How could anyone abandon a child if they’re in danger?”

Lady Clarian smiled. “In chaos, people tend to look inward, not outward. They were more worried about saving themselves. It takes a strong person to be able to put the safety of another over their own wellbeing.” The way her eyes sparkled with pride said exactly what she thought of that type of person—of Solarinn.

Color heated her cheeks. “I’m nothing special,” she mumbled.

This time, the lady didn’t respond. Instead, she led her through the main parlor—Greslinn and Lord Kiernan had gone, along with Shadow—and Solarinn couldn’t help but feel a pinch in her chest at the absence of her _aankor_. It would be nice to have his soothing, grounding presence there while she toured her new home.

“You do not bear the physical markings of a Rider because the Bond was incomplete,” said Lady Clarian. She must’ve noticed Solarinn’s confusion earlier. “The sedative they gave you interfered with the connection.”

Solarinn wracked her brain but couldn’t recall even seeing a _drachon_ in those final, hazy moments. She squinted absently at the ground. Then again, there had been a blur of black and silver before she’d passed out…

On their way to the towers where the _drachons_ roosted, waiting for their riders, Lady Clarian gave her a brief tour of the mansion. With Lady Clarian as her patron for her apprenticeship, she would live in the mansion alongside any other apprentices until she graduated and became a Rider. If she really was a Rider.

Lady Clarian had given her a beautiful sheathe to accompany Fenril—it was white leather embossed with green thread—and it rested in Solarinn’s clenched fist since she didn’t have a waist sash to tuck it into.

The mansion was far larger than it looked on the outside. There was an estate wing with multiple offices and council rooms where Lady Clarian held meetings with other governmental officials or ran the estate. Then there was the residential wing, where Lady Clarian and her family—including one of her daughters and her grandchildren—lived, along with any distinguished guests. After that came the staff quarters, where the staff took their meals. It even had its own library.

But Solarinn couldn’t stop fidgeting until they reached the two towers at the southern end of the mansion. Lady Clarian led her up a spiraling staircase to the top of the tower where the _drachons_ perched. Solarinn’s heart pounded in her chest, and her hands shook around Fenril. She couldn’t decide what to think. Greslinn had forbidden her from Bonding with a _drachon_ and becoming a Rider so she’d never entertained the idea. She knew she didn’t want to be Gra or Queen, but Rider…it opened a world of possibility before her.

She might not have to become a teacher at the Chromatic Academy, or a peddler selling her magic in the Market. She could test into a position at the palace, serving as an ambassador to other countries, or work in the service of one of the Golden Houses to suss out truth from lie in political dealings. The other possibility was joining the Golden Odyssey, the aerial unit of the military, but she didn’t want to consider that. She’d been trained to fight since she joined the Chromatic Academy, but she wasn’t a fighter at heart.

At the very least, she was curious to see the _drachon_ she’d Bonded with. She’d heard tales of the magical relationship between _drachon_ and Rider—never from Greslinn, of course—and wondered if it was as powerful as the legends claimed.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Lady Clarian pushed against an ancient wooden door. It creaked and groaned, but only slid outwards a few inches before coming to an abrupt stop. Lady Clarian heaved against it with a grunt.

Without thinking, Solarinn lunged forward and grabbed her arm. “Please,” she said. “Let me.”

Lady Clarian turned to her with an amused snort. “I’m an old woman, not a useless bag of bones,” she said.

Solarinn blinked, caught off guard by her sarcasm. Then, her lips twitched into a hesitant grin. “Then, let me help.”

The lady nodded primly. “That’s better.”

Together, they pushed against the door until it opened in grudging increments, the hinges groaning and wooden door scraping across the stone floor the entire time. When they finally emerged into the orange drenched air, Lady Clarian sighed and straightened, fanning her face with one hand.

“Remind me to send someone up to take care of that door,” she said.

Solarinn nodded absently, her eyes scanning the tower. _Drachons_ reclined at their leisure, basking in the golden rays of the twin suns or preening their scales. Some squawked and squabbled, playing amongst themselves, while others dosed with soft snores.

She knew her _drachon_ the instant she laid eyes on her, like her soul was a beacon calling to Solarinn. The _drachon_ had a black hide streaked with silver, and she’d been chained to one of the pillars holding a roof over the open tower landing by a crude, metal collar around her throat. The _drachon_ hissed in outrage and clawed at the chains binding her, trying to break them apart with her teeth. _Drachons_ had the rare ability to change their size, but the metal must have been doused in hollyroot because she stayed in her original form. _Drachons_ were allergic to hollyroot, and it negated their magic.

Sympathy twisted Solarinn’s heart at the sight. _Drachons_ weren’t meant to be chained like this. They were meant to be free to soar through the skies, to relax on the tops of the towers with their Soul-Bonds below.

Without thinking, Solarinn ran forward. Lady Clarian called after her, but the words were lost in the general cacophony of noise from the other _drachon_. She slowed to a stop when she was a few feet away. The _drachon_ stopped biting at the chains and turned to her. Fury darkened her eyes and she snarled, baring her teeth at Solarinn.

Solarinn reeled backwards at the unexpected rush of anger. Yet in that dark look in the _drachons_ pearly white eyes, Solarinn understood as if the _drachon_ were speaking directly into her mind. _You abandoned me_ , the _drachons_ intense emotions said. _Where were you when I needed you?_

Guilt and hurt stung Solarinn, bringing tears to her eyes. She hated seeing animals in pain, but it was tenfold worse knowing she’d caused it. This was her fault. The _drachon_ had been chained at the top of the tower for days because she’d lost control and they’d had to sedate her until the madness ran its course. Her actions had not only imprisoned her, but the _drachon_ as well.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know.” The _drachon_ bristled, and Solarinn realized she didn’t understand her. Taking in a deep breath, Solarinn tried to project her feelings to the _drachon_. _Do you see the tears in my eyes? I’m sad that I hurt you,_ she said with her pleading gaze. _I didn’t know, or I would’ve come for you sooner,_ said the way her brows drew together.

The _drachon_ cocked her head to the side. She hesitated, every muscle in her scaly body taut, but the darkness lifted from her luminescent eyes. She regarded Solarinn with equal parts caution and longing, like she wanted to reach out and form that connection yet didn’t know how.

Moving slowly, Solarinn approached the chained _drachon_. She stopped when the _drachon_ bristled and held out her hand, allowing the creature to come to her. After a moment of hesitation, she did. The glorious, winged creature leaned down and snuffled into her palm.

Without turning away from the _drachon_ , Solarinn called out, “Can I have the keys to her chains, please?” As though she’d been waiting for the request, Lady Clarian stepped to her side and handed her a ring of keys. It was easy to find the one to fit the lock; it was the largest one on the ring. Still moving carefully, Solarinn approached the beast’s side and slid the key into the collar around her long, slender throat. A twist, a click, and the _drachon_ was free. The collar fell to the stone tower with a clatter.

The _drachon_ reared up onto her hind legs and roared, flapping her wings wide. Lady Clarian stepped back, but a wide smile lit up Solarinn’s face. It wasn’t an aggressive sound. It was pure joy. The _drachon_ had her freedom after days of captivity.

When she looked up at Solarinn again, their eyes locked, and embers burst into flame within her soul. Solarinn gasped and staggered backwards at the intense wave of emotion that overtook her, causing her entire body to tremble. _Faelyn._ Solarinn knew the dragon’s name from a single look. She also knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Faelyn loved her with such unconditional devotion she would give up her life to protect Solarinn. The sheer force of it took her breath away. It was like the connection she had with Shadow, but it was ten times stronger than that.

Solarinn wondered if the Chromatic Academy required all _sympathes_ to have an _aankor_ not just for their mental stability, but to prepare them for this moment. The legends had been true. Every single one of them. Faelyn didn’t just love her, their souls were connected. Everything the _drachon_ felt, she felt, and she knew it worked for Faelyn, too. Their thoughts were one. Their hearts were one. Their souls were one. If Solarinn hadn’t been raised with Shadow, she would’ve been overwhelmed by the Bond between herself and Faelyn.

She didn’t realize tears were streaming down her cheeks until Lady Clarian placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. With a soft rumble, Faelyn lowered her head and nudged Solarinn’s chest affectionately. The touch brought her out of her trance, and fear closed Solarinn’s throat. Did Faelyn deserve a rider like her? She was a selfless creature with so much love to give, but Solarinn wasn’t sure she deserved it. If she was Barokken, what would happen to Faelyn? If their minds were connected, did that mean the same illness would drive the _drachon_ mad? She couldn’t do that to Faelyn.

A burn snaked up Solarinn’s forearms. She hissed and lifted her arms with a wince. The physical evidence of their Bond inked itself into her skin in swirling designs. Yet they weren’t colored red the way the traditional markings were. Instead, it was a black outline, an empty shell.

Solarinn looked up in bewilderment. “What does it mean?” she asked Lady Clarian.

Lady Clarian took her hands and frowned, looking uncertain for the first time all day. “I have no idea,” she murmured. “But I will look into it.”

Solarinn nodded even while her mind raced with possibilities. Was this because she was Barokken? Was she so damaged she couldn’t form a proper Bond with Faelyn? She gazed up at Faelyn mournfully. The _drachon_ cocked her head to the side, radiating confusion and hurt. She didn’t know what was going on, but she knew something was wrong. Solarinn felt it through their Bond.

“It’s alright,” she said, but her voice shook. “It’ll be alright.” Even though she had a feeling nothing would ever again be alright.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Solarinn

Solarinn was lost in her thoughts while she followed Lady Clarian down the tower steps. She’d told Faelyn she would return with her evening meal, and she intended to keep that promise despite the incomplete markings on her forearms. She stared at them while she walked, nearly tripping over the shallow stairs. Her feet dragged with despair. The Council of Five would take one look at her markings and know she was Barokken. They wouldn’t even wait until Susenn a’Sonn to carry out her sentence.

“What are you thinking?”

Solarinn jerked her head up. Lady Clarian had paused with one hand on the railing to peer at her through squinted eyes.

She swallowed. “I’m thinking…” She gazed helplessly at her arms and held them out to Lady Clarian without words.

Lady Clarian considered her thoughtfully. “We will not tell anyone of this,” she said with strong conviction. “At the moment, you and I are the only ones who know, and it will stay that way. I will have my seamstress craft you fingerless gloves to hide the markings. Until then, I will send you leather straps to cover them.”

Solarinn rubbed her damp eyes. “What’s the point?”

“The point is you don’t know what this means, Solarinn,” said Lady Clarian. “Do you remember what you promised me?”

_“You must promise me you will not let the words of the Council of Five affect you. They don’t know what they’re talking about, and you cannot let anyone else decide your fate.”_

Solarinn’s throat closed at the empty promise, but she nodded.

“Good.” Lady Clarian placed her hand against Solarinn’s cheek in a maternal gesture that made her rigid. “Never forget that.” And then she was walking again, descending the tower steps like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Solarinn followed her, trying and failing not to stare at her blank markings.

When they reached the bottom landing, Lady Clarian steered her towards the residential wing. “I had Greslinn gather your belongings and bring them to the mansion while we were having breakfast,” she said. “You should shower, unpack, and try to put this mess behind you.”

Solarinn nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

They should’ve encountered the House staff or the rest of Lady Clarian’s family, but Lady Clarian managed to take them through side halls and corridors, managing to avoid contact with anyone who would notice Solarinn’s Rider markings.

The lady took her to a room that was decorated with landscapes of the icy tundra in the northern, ice-capped country of Bolstya. The duvet and drapes were pale, muted blue, the carpet and furniture sparkling white to match, and Solarinn found it oddly relaxing. When she pulled aside the drapes, the window overlooked a rose garden below. There was a fountain in the center, with hedges branching out from there. She swore the flowery scent reached her room on the second floor.

“Do you like it?” asked Lady Clarian.

Solarinn turned to her. “Yes. It’s lovely.”

“Good. I’ll send a maid to…” She trailed off with a glance at Solarinn’s bare forearms. Solarinn wrapped her arms behind her back to hide the evidence of her instability. “I’m sorry, dear, but do you know how to pull a bath for yourself? I believe discretion is key until I can procure those leather straps for you.”

“Yes,” said Solarinn in a croak.

Lady Clarian’s eyes softened. “I promise I will do everything in my power to understand what is going on, Solarinn. Try not to think about it for the time being and relax.” She turned and left, closing the door behind her with a soft thud.

Once again, Solarinn was struck by the lady’s peculiar fondness for her and the lengths she was willing to go to help her. It was…odd. Not to mention uncouth. By all accounts, she was an apprentice, and Lady Clarian shouldn’t show favoritism or special treatment to any of the Riders she sponsored. Solarinn itched to know what Greslinn had done to earn such respect and affection from the lady of House Delvan.

Solarinn pumped water from the hose in the bathing room to fill the wide, porcelain tub. It was so different from the copper, claw-footed tub she’d cleaned on the fateful day this all began that she had to laugh. She lit braziers beneath the tub and climbed in once the water started steaming. A soft moan escaped her as she submerged herself. The water was deliciously warm, soothing away the tension in her shoulders and back.

After her bath, Solarinn wrapped a plush, white towel around herself and unpacked her things, trying to stay busy and avoid looking at her forearms. Greslinn had packed all of her favorite things and laid them out on the bed for her. The unexpected gesture warmed Solarinn from the inside out and brought a smile to her lips. She’d taken the time to ensure Solarinn would move into the mansion with all of her familiar, favorite things, and give her a sense of comfort. Solarinn ran a finger over a lilac gown with a cinched waist and curving neckline she adored wearing. Coming from Greslinn, it was practically a declaration of love.

She’d just finished unpacking and was changing into the lilac dress—longing for something comfortable and familiar—when there came a knock at the door.

Solarinn tugged the gown over her head and smoothed out the skirts. “Come in.”

The door opened and none other than Greslinn came in. She held a leash, and on the end of the leash was Shadow. At the sight of her, Shadow wagged her tail and strained at the end of the leash with a soft whine.

Solarinn’s heart ached. She hadn’t realized how much she needed Shadow until she ran forward and took the wiggling canine into her arms. Shadow licked her neck and cheek, her entire body shaking with the force of her wagging tail. Solarinn laughed and kissed her snout, causing Shadow to sneeze.

Greslinn watched their reunion with a blank expression. “Did you unpack?” she asked, business as usual.

Solarinn set Shadow down on the ground and stood. “Yes, mami.”

“Good.” Without another word, she turned to leave.

Solarinn stepped forward. “What is your relationship with Lady Clarian?” she asked before she could lose her nerve. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, her heart pounding. She’d just breeched unknown territory with her mother, crossing a line that had been laid between them for years.

From her recollection, Solarinn had never had a deep conversation with her mother. It had always been superficial topics; how her grades were at Chromatic Academy; whether she’d finished her chores; what she wanted for dinner. She hadn’t even given Solarinn a talk about her monthly cycle once it started or educated her about sex. Solarinn had had the unfortunate ordeal of learning those things from her peers. She’d been absolutely mortified to be the only teenager at Chromatic Academy to not understand how sex between a man and a woman, or a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, or other genders, worked, and her classmates hadn’t let her forget it.

Greslinn turned from the door and studied Solarinn’s face. Even her emotions were unreadable; Solarinn caught faint traces of yellow and grey, but she couldn’t decipher them the way she had before. She squinted, trying to get a better look, but it didn’t provide her with clarity.

“Why do you ask?” was Greslinn’s guarded question.

Solarinn fidgeted beneath her hard stare. She dropped her eyes to the white carpet beneath her feet. “I don’t understand why Lady Clarian is being so kind to me. She said she was fond of you because of what you’d done for her.”

Greslinn’s brow furrowed, her lips pulling down with displeasure. “Did you question her motives? By the Creator, Solarinn, I thought I raised you better than that.”

Solarinn blanched. “No, I didn’t—well, I guess I did, but I didn’t mean to cause offense—”

“I told you to behave yourself.” Greslinn shook her head with a sigh. “It’s obvious you still haven’t recovered from the sedative. We’ll talk once you’re feeling better.” She turned her back on Solarinn again.

“Wait.”

Greslinn paused.

When she didn’t speak, Solarinn licked her dry lips and said, “Thank you. For bringing me my things. It’s…” Solarinn felt suddenly shy and vulnerable, not wanting to reveal to her mother that she’d been touched by the gesture. “It’s nice,” she finished lamely.

Greslinn turned to her then. She glanced down at the lilac dress sheathing her form. Something in her hard exterior cracked, and a small, rare smile lifted her lips. “You’re welcome.” She paused and added, a tad awkwardly like she wasn’t sure of herself, “You will live in Lady Delvan’s mansion, now, but you can come home whenever you want.”

 _You can come home…_ Solarinn’s heart rose to clog her throat, making it difficult to breathe. The words struck her speechless. She realized she’d never considered the wooden house Greslinn and Jonn owned to be her home. In fact, she’d often wondered what home felt like, if it was a place or a feeling. But hearing Greslinn say it made her want to cry.

“Tha—” Her voice broke and she paused to clear her throat. “Thank you.”

Greslinn nodded and finally left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

_Solarinn_

The leather straps arrived around midday, and Solarinn hastily concealed the markings before slipping from the room with Shadow. The horrid rumbling in her stomach had reminded her she hadn’t eaten much of anything during her time in the dungeon—the thought she’d been in there at all made her shudder—and she was starving.

Before she reached the staircase leading to the main floor, a door across the hall from hers opened. Solarinn glanced that way and immediately wished she hadn’t. Stifling a groan, she hurried her steps. Shadow gave a soft yip and trotted after her, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

“Oh, my. Are you sure you’re allowed to wander freely?”

Clenching her jaw, Solarinn stopped and turned to face Morrigan. She hated how perfect the other girl was. It wasn’t just in her impeccable manners, quick-witted intelligence, and regal confidence, it was her face and figure, too. Thick, chestnut brown hair gleaming with health curved down to her shoulder blades, and her hazel eyes had more green shards in them than brain, framed by thick, dark, alluring lashes. Her nose was small and rounded, her lips ridiculously full and lush. Solarinn scowled. Someone as perfect as her shouldn’t be allowed to exist. Especially when she had to rub it in everyone’s face.

“What are you doing here?” asked Solarinn, hoping her assumption wasn’t correct. If Lady Delvan was sponsoring Morrigan, as well, the next few weeks would be a nightmare.

“The real question is, what are _you_ doing here?” Morrigan swept her gaze over Solarinn with a critical, dismissive eye. “I’m surprised they would let the first Barokken in over a century live in a House without a constant guard. The fact you’re alive at all is rather irresponsible.”

Solarinn winced. The implication that she was dangerous cut deep, just like she knew Morrigan intended. The General’s daughter sparred with words the way the crowns’ soldiers fought with swords. Every word was deliberate, every snide remark a careful jab at a person’s weakness.

Solarinn ground her teeth together. “I’m fine,” she snapped.

“Are you, though?” Morrigan took a swaggering step closer. “Tell me, Solarinn. How does it feel to go from the hero who single-handedly stopped the Touched to a danger and menace to society all in one day?”

“How does it feel to know you’ll never be anything more than the General’s daughter, even though you Bonded with the rarest _drachon_ in existence?” she shot back with a scowl.

Morrigan went very, very still, her expression carefully blank. But she couldn’t hide the swirling, colorful emotions in her aura. Small, firecrackers of orange fear and bristling red anger. Solarinn smirked. She’d struck a nerve. Morrigan wasn’t the only one who could exploit another person’s weakness.

“Well, I, for one, would prefer if you kept your distance,” said Morrigan. “I don’t trust you.” She flicked her hair over one shoulder, revealing the slender curve of her neck, and turned as if that was the end of the conversation.

Solarinn crossed her arms over her chest. It was petty, but Lasair damn her if she would let Morrigan have the last word. “For once, we’re in agreement,” she said. “If you stay out of my way, we won’t have a problem.”

Morrigan shot her a cutting look, but Solarinn refused to drop her gaze. They stood like that for a moment longer, neither one willing to be the first to turn away, the air between them charged with intensity. Finally, Shadow barked with impatience and broke their stalemate.

Solarinn knelt. “Sorry, sweetheart.” She stroked the canine’s soft head. When she looked up again, Morrigan was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_Kiernan_

After Kiernan escorted Solarinn from that horrid dungeon and saw her safely to Golden House Delvan, he returned to Golden House Sansen to report to Demetrian for his duties as the Dragon Master apprentice. While he walked through town with Fynn at his side, he couldn’t help but notice all of the people and filth around him. His blood rang in his ears and sweat coated his palms. Fynn shied away from everyone and growled at anyone who came too close, affording Kiernan a little bit of space, but it wasn’t enough.

He tried to erect the walls around himself that Demetrian had been drilling into him for years, but his mental control was shaky at best. The emotions of the people in the crowded streets around him was intense, but that wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered him was the sensory overload from the crowd—the scents of cooking foods, both sweet and savory, clashing; the sounds of hawkers shouting their wares, children screaming, and wagons rumbling down the street; the colorful gowns, and blankets, and toys, and figurines flashing past—and the germs.

Especially the germs. There were germs everywhere. He nearly leapt out of his skin when he passed an elderly man with gray hair who stopped in the center of the dirt road to start hacking into his palm, spittle flying from his lips. Kiernan swore he could see the illness float towards him through the air.

Breathing hard, he broke into a jog, shouldering past people in his haste to reach Golden House Sansen.

By the time he finally arrived at those welcoming golden gates, Kiernan was covered in sweat and gasping for air. He considered himself to be fit thanks to daily training with Demetrian, but he’d broken into a spring when the anxiety became too much and maintaining that speed for miles was taxing.

Swiping a sleeve across his brow, Kiernan drew in a deep breath to try to calm his racing heart and approached the mansion. Fynn panted at his side, but unlike his master, he looked energized by their impromptu run. He trotted beside Kiernan with a bounce in his step, a canine grin on his face.

The Golden House mansions were mostly constructed the same way, so Kiernan passed through the foyer to the estate wing. Maids shuffled past, their arms filled with linens and clothes, while other Riders strode past on errands. They all stopped to bow to him, and Kiernan nodded to each of them with a practiced smile. He made a point to pause and ask them questions—How is your arthritis? Is your daughter still sick? When is your niece’s wedding?—to let them know he valued them, that they were people to him rather than their roles.

_Honey gathers more_ drachons _than vinegar,_ Demetrian had always told him. If Kiernan wanted to rule one day—which he did—he needed to gain the respect of his people not through intimidation and fear, but through respect and affection. It didn’t help that Fynn growled at most of them, even the ones they knew, but the majority of the staff was used to the ornery terrier by now.

It took longer to reach Demetrian’s study than Kiernan would’ve liked. Straightening out his leather uniform, he brushed his brown hair still slick with sweat onto his head and knocked.

“Come in,” came the muffled reply.

Kiernan swung open the door and strode into the room. Unlike every other aspect of his life, Demetrian’s study was an utter mess. Maps lined the walls, with little pieces of paper and notes tacked on at random and without apparent thought. There were bookcases along the wall, but most of those old tomes were scattered on the floor in piles. Some had even been left open, their spines broken.

Unfortunately, Kiernan noticed every tiny detail of the disorganized room. It didn’t matter how many times he visited Demetrian in this very office; it never ceased to give him the worst kind of anxiety. He paused before Demetrian’s desk and clenched his hands behind his back, willing himself not to panic at the colossal mess surrounding him.

Fynn wandered the room, sniffing at the books and licking a few. Kiernan shuddered in disgust. He wasn’t going to let the terrier lick _him_ anytime soon.

Demetrian glanced up from a parchment he was reading. There were small, round glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Is the girl settled?”

“Yes, sir,” said Kiernan

“Good.” Demetrian tossed his glasses onto his huge, oak desk and leaned back with a sigh, his chair creaking. “I need you to investigate the claims that Solarinn stopped one of the Touched by herself.”

Kiernan frowned. “Why? _Sympathes_ have stopped the Touched before.”

Demetrian shook his head. “A group of ten or more _sympathes_ can _contain_ the Touched and stop them from spreading. But Solarinn didn’t just stop one. She banished it entirely.” Demetrian’s voice dropped to a whisper, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “The man who had been touched lived.”

Kiernan’s stomach dropped. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. If that was true, it would be the first recorded event in history for a man or woman to survive one of the Touched.

“How?” 

“I do not know,” said Demetrian. “But I intend to find out, which is why I need you to keep a close eye on her.” He rubbed his beard, eyes squinting. “I’m thinking of having you guard her throughout the day so you can stay close to her.”

Kiernan’s heart thudded in his chest. He wouldn’t mind the opportunity to spend more time with Solarinn—he wanted to get to know the girl—but spending every waking second with her? He swallowed. What would he do at night? The thought of sleeping in the same room as her, knowing her naked, silk clad body was only a few feet away, tangled in the sheets beside him…

He stopped that train of thought before his pants no longer fit comfortably. “But, my duties here—”

“Aren’t as important as this,” said Demetrian.

Kiernan shook his head. “I don’t understand. We’ve been working towards this goal for years,” he said. “Why does this take precedence when we’re so close?”

Demetrian scrutinized him with narrowed eyes. “I would reprimand you for questioning me, boy, but you are right. I did not raise you to blindly follow orders.” He stood, wincing slightly, and Kiernan moved around the table to help him. The arthritis in his hip was probably acting up again. Fynn jumped and growled at his approach, but Demetrian ignored the black terrier.

Waving aside his support, Demetrian limped towards the door. Before he opened it, he straightened, took a deep breath, and when he walked into the hallway, there was no trace of his limp.

Kiernan followed his adoptive father out of the mansion and back towards the Hatching Caverns. Equal parts curiosity and dread grew within him the farther they travelled into the caverns. It was farther than he’d ever been before, and the walls seemed to close around him. He stroked his beard to soothe himself, conscious of Fynn’s warm, loving presence at his back.

Finally, Demetrian came to a stop in front of a crudely constructed door. He lifted a torch he’d snatched from one of the hallways, its light only illuminating a faint circle around them in the dark and pulled on a handle. The door swung outwards with a groan, and the Dragon Master gestured for him to answer.

Ignoring the way his heart thrashed in his chest, Kiernan stepped into the darkness. At his feet, Fynn sidled into the room. His nose twitched as he scented the air. A ripple went through him and he growled, hackles raised.

A pair of bright eyes stared at Kiernan from a corner of the cavernous room. He stifled a gasp. When Demetrian came to his side, the ring of firelight reached just far enough to touch the end of a long, serpentine tail. A split second later, the tail disappeared, and there was a soft scratch of talons on stone.

“Is that a _drachon_?” asked Kiernan.

“Yes.”

“But…what is it doing here? Why isn’t it with its Soul-Bond?”

“Because he’s dying.”

Kiernan’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “How? Is the Rider…?”

Demetrian shook his head. “The Rider is perfectly healthy.” He strode forward and tapped his torch to a sconce in the wall. It caught after a few seconds and roared to life, casting a red and orange glow along the floor and walls. Kiernan stepped back from the horror it revealed.

The _drachon_ was nothing but skin and bones. Its ribs stuck out from its skin like ghostly fingers, and its cranium looked more like a skull. It could barely move, its wings fluttering weakly, and released a weak, pitiful croon.

Kiernan’s entire body trembled. He hated suffering, but he hated it when animals suffered most of all. They were such sweet, innocent souls. They didn’t deserve to be in such pain. He battled the sorrow rising within him and swallowed back his tears.

“I have run a few tests, and I believe the _drachon_ was born without magic,” said Demetrian.

Kiernan’s lips parted in shock. “But…” He trailed off, at a loss for words. On top of being able to change their size, _drachons’_ magic adapted to their surroundings. In the case of Salachar, a _drachon_ could withstand the heat of the twin suns and manipulate the fire, allowing them to leave their underground country and survive aboveground. On emissary missions to Bolstya in the north, the _drachons_ can withstand the freezing cold and manipulate ice. Through their Bond, a _drachon_ gives its Rider the same protections and abilities. The magic of the _drachons_ allowed Salachar to maintain peaceful relations with the other countries of the world. It allowed them to trade for goods and deliver food if their harvests didn’t yield enough. Their entire society depended upon them.

“What does this have to do with Solarinn and the Touched?” he asked, attempting to gather his wits and remain calm, cool, and logical, rather than dissolve into the hysteria rising within him.

Demetrian gave him a grave look. “Because the _drachon’s_ symptoms are identical to a person attacked by the Touched.”


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

_Solarinn_

In a few days, the sedative fully worked its way out of Solarinn’s system, and she woke feeling more refreshed, rejuvenated, and recharged than she ever had in her entire life. She woke with such energy, in fact, she rose before the rest of the House staff and went on a run around the mansion grounds. The air was muggy from the lack of the twin suns smoldering overhead, casting the cavern country into gloom. Faint mist crawled along the ground, and her feet pushed them away in little, swirling waves.

Shadow joined her for a few minutes before deciding that laying down beneath a willow tree and chewing on a piece of bark was far more preferable.

By the time Solarinn finished, she estimated she’d run nearly five meters. She came to a stop at the mansion steps, panting and dripping with sweat. Brushing her sweaty bangs out of her face, she walked up the stairs and groaned. The muscles in her legs strained, making every step an agony. The House had come to life while she’d been exercising, and maids hurried past with trays of food to set out the meal for Lady Clarian, her family, and the rest of the staff.

The moment they saw her, the staff either turned and fled, or ducked into the nearest door they could find, or pressed themselves to the wall and stared at their feet until she passed, but it didn’t bother Solarinn the way it had a few days ago. Their emotions—cold, grey fear of what she might do and sometimes crisp orange irritation that she was even allowed to live among them—swirled around her in a kaleidoscope of color, but she ignored them.

No, today, she was a new woman. They had no reason to fear her, because she was fine. She was better than fine. She felt amazing. A grin cracked her lips, and she hopped up the last set of steps to the second landing, Shadow wagging at her heels. She didn’t feel Barokken at all. Lady Clarian had been right; she wouldn’t let stuffy old men decide her fate for her.

After bathing and changing, Solarinn gathered her books and stuffed them into a satchel, along with a roll of parchment, quill, and a jar of ink. Lady Clarian had informed her the previous evening that the dean of Chromatic Academy had requested she continue her classes in order to take the final assessment and graduate.

Before she left the room, Solarinn paused and stared at the vial of medicine sitting on her nightstand. After the initial dose, Elwin had given her enough to last the week. There was a stopper next to it, which she used to measure three exact droplets into her mouth. She reached for it but hesitated. Did she need the medication? She felt great; not a sliver of madness to be felt or heard. Besides, she could control it. She had been doing just that for years before the Touched changed everything. Shrugging, Solarinn left the medicine on the stand and swept from the room with Shadow.

When she reached the main landing, an odd sight awaited her. Lady Clarian stood with another woman who was hugely pregnant, her pale blue gown billowing over her swollen belly, and a familiar looking Rider. Solarinn squinted and slowed at the base of the stairs, one hand on the railing.

The pregnant wonan caught sight of her, and a smile spread across her face. “There she is! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Solarinn.”

Solarinn blinked. The lady was clearly someone important—no common _grounder_ or an _ember_ beholden to one of the Houses could afford the expensive silk of her gown—and she was unaccustomed to being treated with such respect by someone like her.

Lady Clarian turned, as well, and Solarinn didn’t need to read the colors in her aura to know she was displeased. Her lips were pinched, and there were more wrinkles around her eyes than there had been previously. Solarinn squinted at the detailed colors flowing around her. There was bright orange irritation—irritation that the lady, whoever she was, would interfere with Lady Clarian’s household. There was also pale fear—fear of what the lady’s ulterior motives were, and how they would affect the household. No. Solarinn’s eyes narrowed. Lady Clarian was afraid of how the lady’s motives would affect _Solarinn_.

“Come here, Solarinn,” said Lady Clarian.

The words snapped Solarinn out of her daze. She smiled brightly and descended the steps, glowing the entire time. She thought she’d imagined the ability to discern and interpret complex emotions during her episode, or that she’d somehow lost that aspect of her magic, but it was real. And she still had it. She was lucid enough to realize she wasn’t the most powerful _sympathe_ the world had ever known, but she knew it made her more powerful than most.

“Solarinn,” said Lady Clarian, “I would like you to meet Lady Valloriane Il’Bellen.”

Solarinn’s eyes widened. The woman wasn’t just important, she was the head of one of the five Golden Houses. With a sideways glance at Lady Clarian, Solarinn curtsied awkwardly.

Lady Il’Bellen laughed, a soft, intimate sound that sent a shiver down Solarinn’s spine. “There’s no need for that, my dear.” She rested a hand on Solarinn’s shoulder, and Solarinn straightened at her touch. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing the young lady who single-handedly stopped one of the Touched for days now.” The lady smiled, but it didn’t quite reach the dark brown eyes set in an oval shaped face. Her pale brown eye—nearly blonde—had been coifed atop her head in a braided crown, but a few bangs framed her narrow face. She was elegant in a severe way, the type of beauty that cuts, with her sharp, hawk-like nose and small lips.

Solarinn smiled, flattered by the compliment. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Tell me…” Lady Il’Bellen linked her elbow through Solarinn’s and began pulling her away from the others. “How did you do it? It was absolutely marvelous! I’ve never heard of anyone else being able to achieve what you did. Splendid!”

“Well—”

“If Solarinn does not leave now, she will be late for her classes at Chromatic Academy,” Lady Clarian cut in sharply. The hand she placed on Solarinn’s forearm drew her to a sudden halt, holding her in spot as effectively as a chain.

“Come now, Clarian,” said Lady Il’Bellen with that weak smile. “Surely she can stand to be a few minutes late.”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Lady Clarian with a shake of her head. “Solarinn has missed nearly a week already. If she misses anymore classes, she will not be able to take the final assessment and graduate.”

“I will speak with the dean,” said Lady Il’Bellen with a flick of her hand.

“You will not,” said Lady Clarian. “I have been in touch with the dean, and because she is an apprentice in my household, she will follow my rules.”

The two ladies stared at one another in a silent battle of wills. Lady Il’Bellen’s smile looked forced, now, her jaws tight, but Lady Clarian made no pretenses of pleasantries. She stared at the lady of House Bellen with cool authority, her face composed but unbreakable. Solarinn stiffened. She wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but she felt like a doll being fought over by two children, their grubby little hands on either arm.

“Very well.” Lady Il’Bellen released Solarinn’s arm and stepped back. “We will have to speak another time, Solarinn,” she said, but her eyes were on Lady Clarian when she said it.

Lady Clarian said nothing.

“I would…like that,” said Solarinn, faltering slightly. She didn’t want to upset her patron, Lady Clarian, by accepting the invitation if she didn’t like the other woman, but she didn’t want to offend a lady of a Golden House, either. 

“Splendid! In that case, I leave you with this gift.” Lady Il’Bellen gestured behind her at the Rider, whom Solarinn had completely forgotten.

She looked at him again, and this time, she really looked. He was gorgeous; tall, dark, and handsome, the way the other girls fantasized about at the Academy. Solarinn took him in appreciatively. His black hair was swept back from an angular face, with a chiseled jaw shrouded with stubble, and a slight cleft in his chin. She was undeniably attracted to him and ran a hand through her curly auburn hair with a small, flirtatious smile, grateful she’d bathed before changing and coming downstairs. 

Although Solarinn had been courted by a few boys and girls during her time at the Academy, none had lasted more than a few weeks. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested in romance, it’s that she knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t willing to settle for anything less. The other girls said she was too picky, but she thought she was smart; she didn’t want to waste time on a relationship that she didn’t see eventually ending in marriage. Society didn’t require Salachese to marry anymore—there were plenty of domestic partners raising families, or simply living happily alone, and even those who chose to remain single for the length of their lives or raise children without a partner—but for Solarinn, it was a personal choice. 

When Solarinn met his blue-eyed stare, however, recognition shot through her like electricity. She gasped and took an involuntary step back, pulling out of Lady Clarian’s grip. It was the Rider who’d had to subdue her at the Hatching Caverns. Solarinn’s stomach plummeted to the tips of her toes. Any romantic intentions she’d had towards the Rider shriveled and died a spectacular death. 

He smirked, and Solarinn knew he recognized her, too.

“Solarinn, this is Rider Dariann,” said Lady Clarian, her tone bland and monotone. “For the duration of your time here, he will be your personal guard.”

Solarinn tried and failed to swallow, her throat drier than the desert sands in the aboveground over their heads. Her hands trembled at her sides, but she clenched them into fists. At her feet, Shadow whined and sat on her slippered foot in silent comfort, her ears drooping.

“Since House Delvan is short on Riders at the moment,” said Lady Il’Bellen in a drawl, oblivious to Solarinn’s inner anguish. “I have kindly lent her one of my own Riders to assist with this particular task. He is completely at your disposal.” She gestured and Rider Dariann bowed, his expression unreadable.

“You are too generous,” said Lady Clarian dryly.

“It is my pleasure,” said Lady Il’Bellen with a gracious nod, pointedly overlooking her tone.

Solarinn barely heard them. Once again, she didn’t need to read Lady Clarian’s aura, or that of Lady Il’Bellen, to understand their true meaning. They had deemed her too dangerous to live in the House without constant supervision. Anger stroked embers in her heart, and she clenched her jaw. She felt better than she had all week, and they chose _today_ of all days to put her under watch? It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Why? What had changed?

The conversation with Morrigan returned to her and her nostrils flared.

_“I’m surprised they would let the first Barokken in over a century live in a House without a constant guard. The fact you’re alive at all is rather irresponsible.”_

Solarinn’s eyes narrowed. That witch.

“It’s nice to meet you, Solarinn.” Rider Dariann swept into a courteous bow and extended one hand towards her.

Solarinn didn’t take it. Instead, she regarded him with cool disdain. “If you’ll excuse me, I have something to do before we leave for the academy.” She whirled away.

“Solarinn.” Lady Clarian caught her arm in a firm grip. “I must speak with you later. Will you join me for dinner?”

Solarinn bit down a retort. She wanted to refuse, but the image of her mother floated behind her eyes. If she wanted to do right by her mother, she couldn’t be rude to Lady Clarian. “Fine,” she managed through clenched teeth. Nodding, Lady Clarian released her and Solarinn marched back up the stairs. Shadow trotted along behind her, but she whined, sensing Solarinn’s turbulent mood.

Solarinn didn’t stop until she reached Morrigan’s room and pounded on the door. “Morrigan!” she shouted. Shadow flinched and scurried away, cowering by one of the walls.

There was a muted _thud_ through the door, followed by a soft scuffle. A second later and the door creaked open, admitting a sliver of Morrigan. Rather than wait, Solarinn shoved the door open and barged into her room, nearly knocking the other young woman down.

Morrigan reeled backwards with a blink. She wore her customary breeches and white blouse, her books gathered in a neat, tidy pile by the door. “By Lusce, Solarinn, have you lost it again?” she demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you to stay out of my way,” Solarinn snarled.

Morrigan glowered at her. “And I have. I want nothing to do with you, if I can help it.”

“Then, why do I suddenly have a guard?” Solarinn shouted and gestured behind her into the hallway. She couldn’t see Rider Dariann but knew he must be lurking somewhere nearby.

Morrigan’s eyes widened. Genuine surprise flickered through her aura and caused Solarinn to pause. She read the other girl’s colors, her eyes flicking back and forth. The colorful surprise was because she didn’t think her father, the General, would’ve truly listened to her concerns. It was quickly accompanied by pale green satisfaction.

Solarinn growled. “I knew it!”

The surprise vanished from Morrigan’s face, replaced by pinched irritation. She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips. “What did you know?” she demanded.

“That you’re a witch who complained to the General about me,” she said.

“Honestly, Solarinn, can you blame me?” Morrigan rolled her eyes. “You’re Barokken. You’re a danger to everyone in this House—no, everyone in Salachar.”

Solarinn’s arms trembled at her sides. “I’m not Barokken,” she growled.

“Oh, really?” Morrigan swept her arms wide. “And what do you call this outburst? Is it normal for you to bust down doors and scream at people?”

The words were a slap in the face to Solarinn. She hated to admit it, but Morrigan was right. While her anger was justified, her impulsive reaction had been rude and immature. She wasn’t the girl who tore through people’s doors like a battering ram and lashed out at them with hurtful words. She was better than that. Gritting her teeth together, Solarinn curled her hands into fists and tried to breathe through the anger, to have a mature, rational conversation.

“I have the right to be mad at you,” said Solarinn, the words quivering with the effort it took to keep her voice down. “You went behind my back to your father, and now, thanks to you, I’m under constant watch.”

Morrigan cocked her head to the side with a displeased twist of her lips. “If you’re looking for an apology, you’re not going to get one, Solarinn,” she said. “I don’t regret what I did. It was the best thing to do. For everyone.” She gave Solarinn a pointed look.

It took Solarinn a moment to understand, even with the other girl’s emotions laid bare before her in a rainbow of colors. She blinked. “You think I’m a danger to myself, too.”

“You’re unpredictable, Solarinn,” said Morrigan. “Who knows what you’re capable of?”

Solarinn shook her head from side to side, tears of frustration pricking her eyes. “I would never hurt anyone. I would never…” She couldn’t voice the final thought with the same conviction. The truth was, she’d thought about harming herself in the past, but she’d never followed through with it. She didn’t think she ever would, but in a way, Morrigan was right. She knew what she capable of, but not the madness, not her mind. It was terrifying to not be able to trust herself. It was like a demon lived inside her, and sometimes, it took control. When it did, she was a prisoner in her own body, gazing out through her eyes but unable to control herself. She was no more than a puppet to the madness that drove her thoughts and actions, but those thoughts and actions did not belong to her. They belonged to someone else. A different girl. The girl she became when the madness took hold.

Morrigan began, “If you—”

But Solarinn had heard enough. Without another word, she turned and left, closing the door behind her to cut off Morrigan’s pursuit.


End file.
